


Under Every Moon

by foxbee



Category: Legacies (TV 2018), The Originals (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Post-Apocalypse, Blood Drinking, Daddy Issues, F/M, Father-Daughter Relationship, First Time, Incest, Loss of Virginity, Menstruation Kink, Parent/Child Incest, Recreational Drug Use, Slow Burn, Slow Romance, klope
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-04
Updated: 2020-07-18
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:22:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 41,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24531493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foxbee/pseuds/foxbee
Summary: Set after a virus and EMP attack wipes out the majority of the population. Somehow, the EMP results in Hope's loss of her magic, leaving her with just her wolf side. Klaus and Hope travel to find a place to call home. This is a Klaus and Hope romance. Don't like, don't read. Though, I urge you to try it anyway, nobody has to know ;)
Relationships: Hope Mikaelson/Klaus Mikaelson
Comments: 96
Kudos: 125





	1. Chapter 1

[ k l a u s ]

She never complains. He grows tired of the pointless trek across towns and through cities.The intrepid Hope Mikaelson. Doesn’t bat an eye at eating snakes or opossum. Skins them and cooks them herself, in fact. She doesn’t ruminate on all the things or people she misses, though he can’t stop thinking about how much he wants to sit at a bar somewhere and listen to jazz with his arm slung around Rebekah’s shoulders -breathe in her French perfume and listen to her lazily drawl about the past. 

“Are you going to help me with this?” Hope pries off a rotted plank. “Or are you just gonna stand there looking pretty?”

Klaus grins and pulls another off with ease. They had found an old cabin with a storm cellar after following a creek through densely packed pines. They hoped there were canned goods or something useful behind the boarded off cellar. 

The doors open with a vibrating groan, Hope dusts off her hands and shoots him a wistful grin. She descends down the creaking stairs, batting cobwebs and coughing from the dust. His eyes sharpen and land on shelves lining the furthest wall -filled with jars of food. Hope let’s out a triumphant hoot. She runs to the shelves, rummaging and examining the old jars.

“Check the seals,” he reminds softly, shuffling towards the opposite side of the cellar. There’s a hunting rifle and ammunition. He picks up a box and counts the bullets. 

Hope mutters to herself, counting jars and grouping them at the foot of the stairs. He finds a crate with a busted lantern and tattered blankets inside; dumping them out, he begins to fill it with the jars. 

“Hallelujah, look Dad,” she calls from behind the shelf. He glances up to see her holding a bottle of wine. “There’s at least eight more,” she waggles her brows. 

He stands and smiles. “We will sleep well tonight, won’t we love?”

She sighs blissfully and hugs the bottle like it’s a teddy bear.

  
  


[ h o p e ]

His thumb swipes the wine from her lower lip. “What’s the matter?”

She shakes her head -doesn’t know. The moon is full and her skin buzzes like the swell of crickets beyond the cracked windows; she smells his sweat dampened shirt when he leans closer. 

He chuckles silently through his nose, grins lopsidedly. “You drank too much,” he states, plucking the bottle from her grasp. 

Hope shrugs; tosses an arm over her eyes. 

He carries her to bed. She keeps a hold of his neck, pulling him down in a tangle of limbs. He sighs and untangles himself to shed his clothes. If they forget, their shirts and jeans stick to their sweaty skin. Summer nights don’t cool enough in the south. She struggles with her zipper, her fingers slow and fumbling.

He clucks his tongue. The zipper sounds sharp in the silent room. She lays like a corpse as he tugs her free, legs falling limply. 

The crickets trill outside and the leaves rustle above. A thin breeze parts the curtain, though not enough to reach her skin.

“I like wine,” she admits, walking her fingers up her bare belly.

“Hm, indeed.”

  
  


[ k l a u s ]

The storm fills the water barrels. He boils some for their baths. She goes first and talks to him through the cracked door, steam escaping into the hall like beckoning tendrils. He sips wine and rests his head against the wall. 

“This feels amazing,” she croons. He smells the soap he taught her to make with ashes from their fires and fat from their hunts. She had added wild jasmine and mint from an old overgrown herb garden out back. 

“Stay in until the water goes cold. Enjoy, love. You earned it.”

“I was pretty bad ass today, wasn’t I.” 

He can hear the smile in her voice. She had taken to spear throwing quite nicely. They’d have smoked deer jerky for weeks. He still refused to use the hunting rifle. It’s too comfortable here to draw unwanted attention from wandering vampires or wiley survivors. 

This can be home. For a little while. 

“Bleh,” she sighs. Splashes of water follow. “I’d kill for a razor.”

“You are meant to have hair or you wouldn’t grow it,” he reminds through a smile. “There’s no one here to judge you for it anyhow.” 

Silence follows so he listens to the trickle of water as she rinses the soap away. He closes his eyes at his untactful way of reminding her everyone is dead and gone. It’s harder for her to mourn their neverending solitude. 

When his turn comes he grips the sides of the old claw foot tub as he listens to her cry softly in the bedroom. 

She thinks she’s quiet enough, but she seldom is.


	2. Chapter 2

[ h o p e ]

They forage for berries and leaves all morning. She cuts and smashes, places them in the empty jars. He pours the boiling water and closes each to steep in the sun. Tonight they will use them to paint. 

Hope yawns as she sets the last jar on the porch railing. 

Klaus squeezes her shoulder, walking by, “rest, I’ll go catch a fish or two.”

“Sure,” she shrugs. 

  
  
They eat well that night. Hope collects the fish bones to crush later for seasoning. The jars of paint are ready. She watches him mix honey and corn starch from the cellar into each color, thickening them into a creamy paste.

She plays with the texture between her fingers. “Just like paint, that’s amazing.” 

They don’t have paper and the walls are splintered, knotted wood. So, he paints on her skin with the pads of his fingers. It tickles but it also nearly puts her to sleep. He dips his finger into the jar. It’s cold against her belly, he draws a circle around her navel. He paints trees over the bumps of her ribs and ripples in the sea between hip bones. 

She props up on her elbows, peers down. “It’s beautiful.”

“The body is a good canvas.”

“Until I sweat it all off.” She sits up and points, “my turn”.

She paints vines and snakes up his arms; signs her name along his collarbone. He admires her work and tells her about the past. Her favorites are always about his time at court in the late 1400’s.

The candles drip low before they decide to trudge to bed. Her belly is full and he’s in a good mood, so she tentatively suggests he feeds.

“I’m quite alright. Let’s sleep.” He fluffs the pillow that they share, but she usually ends up with. He pats the bed and settles into his ‘no nonsense’ gaze.

She sinks in beside him, pulling his arm around her. She smears the lines of a snake with her fingers; an attempt to soothe him into submission. He doesn’t feed enough and it makes her chest clench. It’s the only thing they argue about.

Hope plays with his fingers, bending them and tangling them with her own. “It’s been days since you drained that deer.”

“And I shall be satisfied for days more.” His chin feels sharp against her shoulder.

“I’ve eaten well so you can drink more than usual. Then you’ll be satisfied much longer.” 

He’s silent, even his breathing slows. Hope closes her eyes and says through a yawn, “take from my neck, it’s quickest and it makes me sleepy.”

“Do you know why that is?”

He’s always trying to make everything a lesson.

“Because of the main veins.”

“I mean why it makes you sleepy.”

Hope picks at his paint-crusted thumbnail; shrugs.

He unlaces his fingers and uses them to sweep her hair from her neck. “I could kill you with my bite. I could drink you dry.” He thumbs her pulse. She feels it pick up and thump harder. “But you trust me. The pain turns instead to pleasure.” She feels his lips brush like a feather as he continues, “and that’s exactly what vampires are wired to do to their prey.”

“So that the prey doesn’t fight it.”

“Precisely,” he murmurs. His fangs scrape against her skin. She tenses in anticipation. It’s the part she fears most and quietly loves. “Yet, it is much easier to just compel them to be still. Or to drain so quickly they drop to your feet. Quite messy.”

Without warning he bites. She jerks and his palm splays firmly on her abdomen to still her. This part she enjoys; her eyes flutter shut. The skin around the fangs becomes numb, but the pull of blood, the sounds of his swallows and thick breaths...it feels like being rocked to sleep. 

She wonders what it’s like to feed. She knows one day she will likely find out. But then they will both be out of food. 

Her neck aches, his pull grows stronger. Sounds bud in his throat. Her mind drifts, playing fuzzy images behind her eyelids -like watching a movie drunk. 

He slides out of her skin. Her eyes slip open at the contact his tongue makes. A quick swipe across the wound and her insides twitch. She sucks on her lip.

“It’s a clean bite, you should heal quickly.” He sounds proud. 

Klaus rolls over, as he often does after he drinks from her. They never talk about why. She touches the damp fabric between her thighs. They’re just bodies doing what bodies do. It doesn’t matter. 

  
  


[ k l a u s ]

“Come here, I’ll do something with all that hair.”

She grabs a handful protectively. He chuckles and gestures for her to comply. She sits warily in front of him.

He gathers the wild locks, finger combing them down her back. “I had a mother, sister, and many girlfriends, you know.” 

“Lots of men did.”

Klaus ignores her, separates sections of her thick waves, and begins braiding. He tells her of the meaning behind his villages’ hairstyles. She listens, bringing her knees to her chin. 

“Married women tended to pull it away from the neck in simple fashion. But the girls...oh they made it an art form of flirting.”

Hope snorts. He yanks lightly.

“Two crowned braids meant they were open for men’s attention. Three meant they were taken. And four was a sign of impending marriage.”

“Why couldn’t they just say, ‘Niklaus, keep your filthy hands off my breasts, I am taken’?”

He laughs. “Well they did, love. Vikings were often too drunk and stumbling with lust to count the braids.”

“How utterly surprising,” she smirks. 

He braids swiftly, bringing the unkempt tendrils away from her face. It’s strange how his fingers remember just what to do. He thinks of Tatia’s hair after he made a mess of it; pulling free the straws of hay and kissing her neck. Elijah waiting near the stables, pretending he didn’t care that they shared her.

“How many do I get?”

“Well,” he muses, starting on the second, “would you like the woodland creatures to think you are open to love? Or shall we send them a message that you are already quite taken with that raven you chat with in the garden?”

She snickers. “I suppose I’d like to remain open. He’s a terrible conversationalist and I’m holding out hope that one of those toads by the creek will indeed become a prince.”

He laughs. He loves her sense of humor. Sarcastic and playful. A good mix of Hayley and himself. His heart twinges at the thought of her. 

Hope is quiet as he works methodically at securing the strands of hair into something that will keep it neat and clean. He finishes and tugs her to the dusty and cracked bathroom mirror. She smiles, but it doesn’t reach her eyes.

He places his hands on her shoulders. He watches her hand find his in the reflection.

“I hadn’t thought about it yet.”

He tilts his head, “what’s that?”

She blinks slow and heavy. “Doesn’t matter how many braids I have. There’s no one else out there.”

“We don’t know that for sure.”

She lowers her gaze. Her head leans back into his chest. He cups her chin and tilts it further so his lips can reach the tip of her nose. He nips playfully and she grins. 


	3. Chapter 3

[ h o p e ]

The old cabin hidden deep in the forest is really starting to feel like a home. With its plentiful cellar, stone fireplace, and one bedroom occupied with a squeaky bed; it’s far from any main roads. It’s by luck they even found it. Hope spends hours a day cleaning it out and making repairs. If she doesn’t, Klaus might want to keep moving northeast.

“What?” She pauses and blows a strand of hair from her eyes.

He’s watching her from the rickety front porch, feet propped on an overturned bucket. 

“You know, sweetheart,” he muses, eying her handiwork on the trench she digs. “You don’t have to work so hard all of the time. Take a break.”

Hope thrusts the old shovel she’d found propped against the cabin into the dirt. She swipes the sweat from her brow with the back of her arm and peers at him. “If I don’t dig this, the water will continue to collect here during storms.” She continues to dig, talking breathlessly, “which is why the siding over here is rotting. In what century did you decide you’re above manual labor?”

She’s kidding of course. He’s been doing more than his share of the grunt work. He smiles.

“You remind me of your mother.”

“You say that all of the time. And she always said the opposite. I always reminded her of you.”

He leans back in the chair. It creaks like the pines do when they sway during storms and she wonders if it’ll hold much longer. Another thing to fix. 

“I meant it as a compliment.”

Hope tosses a shovelful of pebbled dirt onto the growing pile. “She meant it as a compliment too, if you can believe.” She smiles, ignoring the blisters on her hands. They’ll heal later. “Especially when she said I also have no tolerance for chit chat.”

He laughs, shaking his head. “I’ll leave you to it then.”

“The floors could use another sweep,” she calls after him.

He salutes her with a lazy wink.

  
  


[ k l a u s ]

They watch the rain fall and rush away from the house. Hope smiles proudly and shoves another pickled radish in her mouth. 

He looks at her legs, extended in front of her, ankles crossed. Still youthful, but taut with hard work and significantly less calories than she’d been used to at the Salvatore School. It’s been three years since he’d rushed there from Italy. 

He shudders at the memory. Kol begging for an end, knees dirty from kneeling at the freshly dug mound.  _ I belong with her, just do it Nik.  _ So he had. He plunged the white oak stake into his brother’s heart and cried like a boy. 

No word from his sisters; Rebekah turned human from the cure she’d rushed to take from a dying Damon Salvatore. He knew they were both gone. Long gone. Though, Hope stayed true to her name. She only recently began accepting they were the last Mikaelsons standing. 

Elijah and Hayley escaped this hell long ago. At times he envied them of that. Absorbing The Hollow and spending the afterlife in each other’s arms. No weight of parental duties during a bloody apocalypse. 

“You tired, old man?”

Klaus blinks at the sting of tears, glances up and offers a faint grin. “A bit”.

She stands and wriggles her hand for him. He grasps it and allows her to tug him from the porch chair. He follows her into the main room; stops in the middle to watch her blow out the candles. It was looking quite nice in here. The open space included a small kitchen with a sink and gas stove, a tiny hand made table against the front window, and a tattered couch positioned in front of a stone-stacked fireplace. 

He follows her down the narrow hallway that splits at the end. On the left is the bathroom with a chipped claw foot tub. The right is their bedroom with the iron wrought bed; the mattress dips in the middle and every movement earns them a symphony of squeaking and moans.

They settle under the sheets, too hot for the quilt folded neatly at the foot of the bed. He lifts his arm so she can rest her cheek against his chest. She fiddles with his necklace like she had as a toddler.

“I should clean the gun tomorrow,” she states softly. His necklace clacks as she picks at it. 

He thumps his fingers along her arm, “what do you know of cleaning guns?”

“Ric taught me. He was always prepared for everything.”

“I see…” He tries to keep the resentment from his tone. While the school had been the best place for her, it was Caroline and Ric who filled the role of mother and father in those years. It was Alaric Saltzman who taught her how to survive and fight.

She looks up at him, chin digging into his skin. 

He inhales deeply, stating in the exhale, “we don’t need the gun. Focus on helping me with the roof repairs.”

She’s quiet. Returns her cheek to his chest. She asks in a whisper, “so we’re staying?”

He tucks her hair behind her ear, swirls the pad of his finger around the studded diamond earring he’d given her many Christmases ago. 

“Yes. For now.”

[ h o p e ]

Full moons have always felt like a calling. A call to run, hunt, fuck, change, kill. It beckons the underused parts; the parts clawing to break free. It’s why wolves are so aggressive. It’s why some eventually look forward to the change from man to beast. 

Hope watches the sun drip behind the pines like melting butter. It’ll be night soon, and the calling will drive them both insane. It’s another thing they never talk about. 

“We should change tonight. I can’t stand fighting it anymore,” she suggests. 

He pauses with axe in hand. Glances at her, and brings it down, splitting the wood in a harsh  _ whack _ . 

“Very well. But we stay together.”

She smiles. 

  
  


At the moon’s peak, they break their bones in groans and screams. They run, paws tearing up sodden soil and air fills their eager lungs. It’s everything and more. 

They lay with muzzles touching, feeling the earth as animals. Thinking in senses rather than words. She loves him. She nudges his musky neck.

He stands first, long after she dozes and dreams in images and scents. She shakes her fur and trots after him. He pauses when they near the cabin. His amber eyes lock onto hers. She feels the surge between alpha and young wolf; lighting down her spine. He’s telling her it’s time to change back. 

It’s quick and her fragile human skin tears against the sharp foliage on the trek back to their clothes. 

In bed he falls asleep quickly. He’s hard and snoring in her ear. Hope feels the pulse and length pressed into her lower back; she knows it’s not because of her. Her body betrays her too, and she grows tight. 

He’d be mortified if he knew...but they were just bodies. Warm and alive under a full moon. His arm tightens around her chest, the soft golden hairs tickling her skin. His breath warms the nape of her neck. 

Rain gurgles down the clogged gutters and a flash of lightning followed by a rumble causes them both to jump.

Hope’s hand moves to his arm, gently running her fingers in a soothing motion. If he falls back to sleep, he might not notice his pressed arousal. She doesn’t want him to move to the floor. She needs this; warmth, safety, and love. 

[ k l a u s ]

He wakes to movement, barely there, but enough to rouse an eye to peer at her. 

She’s on her back, knees at a bend. The sheet has fallen away and gathered along her ankles, feet buried beneath. His eyes adjust to the dark as they fall down her bare thigh to land on where her palm lays. 

He’s about to roll over, pass back out and dream more of his lost family, but her pulse catches his sleepy gaze. It thumps steady and hard, like it does when they hunt. Her shirt is pushed up, as if she grew too warm in the stuffy room. Her ribs are sharp, but not so much that he worries, not yet. 

He’s about to slide out of bed to crack the window further. Surely the night air has cooled enough by now. Hope lets out a small exhale; a muted frustration. He stills. Her palm lifts, the pad of her middle finger skates along the trim of her panties. Traces the seams; unsure and delicate. He should close his eyes. Feign sleep and turn away. 

This isn’t the first time. He just doesn’t know what to say. 

Her belly twitches, she holds in a breath. Her finger drifts over the cotton, rests at the jut of her pubic bone. Presses and shakily exhales through her parted lips. 

He dares to look up. Her eyes are closed, lashes fanned across sharp cheekbones, a flush cupping her cheeks. 

Klaus closes his eyes and rolls over. He can’t watch her like this. His nostrils flare and fingers clutch his pillow; ignores the pressure pulsing in his groin. 

She’s still. Her breathing is shaky, but thin. He thinks about anything but her. Elijah’s laugh when he’s lax with liquor; Kol and Rebekah bickering over a game of cards. His favorite tree to sit beneath and whittle gifts for his siblings.

The mattress creaks. Her pulse is thick but slower; it echoes in his skull. He breathes deeply. The scent grabs his breath. Sweet and musky; it wets his mouth. Her pulse picks up and his mind dulls as his senses push forward. There’s a full moon, after all.

The sheet trembles against her movements. There’s no guessing what she’s doing. He bites his lip. There’s a soft crackling, like a moist kiss, and his mind fills in the blanks with images of her panties pushed to the side, swollen folds glistening under her exploring touch. His lower lip splits under the row of teeth. His cock is tapping his abdomen like an incessant child.

It’s quick. The mattress quakes along with her as she quietly lets go. Tiny exhales and a sated sigh. Then she’s still. Just her flying heart and shuddering breaths. He waits. Listens. 

When he’s sure she’s fallen asleep, he slowly slips out of bed, tucking himself in the elastic of his waistband. He makes it to the doorway. Stops. Turns slowly.

She’s on her back, arms tossed behind her head. Her shirt remains bunched under her breasts, navel exposed. He shouldn’t, but does -his eyes flick towards her panties...sodden and clinging to the outline of swollen flesh.

He curses under his breath. He turns, moving to leave the room. 

“Dad…”

He stops, shutting his eyes and deflating. “Just getting some water,” he rasps. 

“I have some here,” she murmurs. He turns slowly, lifts his eyes to hers. Her hair cascades over her shoulder; she tilts her head. The scent of her fills the room. 

He looks away. 


	4. Chapter 4

[ h o p e ]

They play chess with pieces he whittled from a downed oak. She sips her wine as he explains why she keeps losing. He doesn’t consider that maybe she’s just not paying attention. 

“We should hike back towards that town we saw. We’re getting low on the jarred stuff,” she suggests, swirling her glass lazily.

His eyes flick up to meet hers. She raises her brow; leans forward and tugs at his short beard. “We could find some razors for that thing!”

He smiles, leans back in the creaky chair. “I suppose it’s been long enough. We could take a look around. Though, surely it will be cleared out just like all the others.”

She shrugs. “Maybe.” Leaning forward she whispers, “or there’s a trove of hidden wine and crates of old man booze.”

He chuckles, touches her chin with a rook, “my little lush.”

They head out first thing in the morning, it’s best to get ahead of any daylight ring-less vampires. Hope doesn’t worry about crossing anyone anyway. She’s certain everyone’s dead or close to it. Though, she watches her dad’s eyes scan their surroundings as if he’s not as convinced.

It takes two hours with a few breaks to make it into town, staying off the main roads. They search a gas station and find useless items like prepaid cell phones and nail polish. She grabs a ruby red and follows Klaus towards the town’s grocery store. 

It’s completely ransacked and reeks of rotting food. She covers her nose and mouth as they step over busted cans of molding food and tipped over carts. The aisles are empty, even the craft section. 

She crosses her arms and sighs. He gestures towards the double doors at the end of the store.

“I’m willing to bet the employees stashed something mind-altering for their shifts,” he offers lightly.

Hope perks; follows him into the dark back rooms. They split up, Hope ducks into the manager’s office while Klaus pries open the employee lockers. His laugh echoes and she smiles to herself, trying to imagine what he found. 

The manager’s desk looks untouched. She pulls open the drawers and smiles when she finds a flask. She unscrews the cap and sniffs. Bourbon. She sneaks a sip and blanches. Not the top shelf stuff she’s used to, but it would do the trick. 

The middle drawer is stuck so she kicks at it with her muddy boot until it clicks. She pulls it out and lets out a laugh herself. 

Klaus strolls in, hands behind his back. She grins, trying to peer around him.

“Well? Let’s share our findings,” Hope urges.

He sets items one by one. “A granola bar, these tampons, and…” He waggles his brows and slides a baggy across the desk. “Weed.”

“Oh wow,” she nods, shrugging, “okay, I hate to admit, but I’m most excited about the tampons.”

“I thought you might be,” he affirms. Gesturing, he says, “your turn.”

She sets the flask down. “Filled to the brim with mediocre whiskey.” He grabs for it but she swats him away. “Not finished. Here we have a package of tissues...a bottle of _extra_ creamy lotion...and…”

“Oh no…” he murmurs.

She smiles wickedly and sets the porno magazines down. 

“Finally Legal Blondes. Thought you might like that.”

She adores that he blushes.

  
  


[ k l a u s ]

He lets her convince him they should stay the night in one of the nice houses a few blocks away. He lets her pick and after kicking in the door, was glad they’d done it.

“Do you think their names were Bunny and Steve? Because I think so,” she drawls in an uppity accent. She spins in a fuzzy bathrobe, the heeled house slippers clacking on marble flooring. 

“I think I’m going to see if Steve kept any hidden liquor that costs more than ten dollars.”

“Hurry back,” she trills in Bunny’s voice. 

It’s good to see her act youthful again. She’s always been so serious. So calculating. 

He finds a bottle of quality scotch and nearly kisses it. He tips it into his mouth and moans, walking back up the stairs. He finds her rummaging through Bunny’s walk in closet. 

“She has so many dresses.” Hope picks out a shimmering blue mini dress. Something Rebekah would pick, no doubt.

“Try it on,” he urges, sinking into a velvet armchair. 

He busies himself with the scotch. Swishes mouthfuls and smiles at the burn in his belly. He’s warm and calm. Happy, even.

Hope steps out after a while and he pauses. She looks apprehensive, like she knows she looks stunning but doesn’t want to hear him say it. So he doesn’t. But he does take in just how grown up she’s become. Stunning, truly. 

The fabric clings and hugs over her curves; sharper than they once were, but feminine and sleek. She stirs something within like her mother, with an inherent elegance like a Mikaelson. He wonders if anyone had ever told her she was something more than beautiful. 

His lips tug into a slow grin. “I think Bunny would be very jealous.” She ducks her head and smiles. 

Hope changes into one of Steve’s oversized shirts. It reminds him of when she was a toddler and he could never keep pajama pants on her, for she was always peeling them off and tossing them out of her crib. 

They search the house together. She sets aside clothes she wants to keep and they find more alcohol. There’s not much food, mainly boxes of pasta and a few cans of french cut green beans, but she’s happy to have something other than rice.

The sun starts to go down, they can only find a candle that smells like cinnamon and a box of matches that take several strikes to light. They share the scotch and he watches her rummage through a closet in the living room that they’ve decided to sleep in for the night. 

“Want to play a game?” she asks over her shoulder. Her eyes are lazy from drinking.

He shrugs, “what do they have?”

“Monopoly and some game called…” she pulls it out and holds it near the candlelight, “A Game of Confessions.” A wicked grin morphs her face. She blinks up at him. “We’re playing that one of course.”

“Of course,” he sighs. 

He sits on the plush rug with his back against the couch as she settles on her stomach, propped on elbows, feet swaying in the air behind her. She sets up the game, smoothing out the instructions. She squints for a while before tossing them aside.

“Let’s just randomly choose some until we get bored.”

“Very well.”

She shuffles the cards and spreads them around face down. “There are different categories but I mixed them all together. Go ahead, pick one first. We’ll just both answer each card to keep it fair.”

Klaus grabs the closest one and flips it to read aloud, “Do you prefer to punish or be punished?” He quirks a brow and mutters, “I suppose this is in the sex category then…” 

Hope wiggles her fingers for the bottle. He passes it to her and watches her take a gulp. She’d be passed out within the hour. Wiping her mouth she states, “I would prefer to be punished.” Then, tapping her chin in thought, “then again, I guess it would depend on my mood.”

He shakes his head, “Let’s play Monopoly.” Klaus tries to ignore the imagery of Hope in either of those situations. 

She rolls her eyes. “Oh come on, this is tame. As if I didn’t already know you’re more the punishing type. Just pick another card.”

He grimaces and flips another. “Describe your first time.” 

Her eyes widen and she nods in agreement, snatching the card and gathering up the rest in swift scoops. “Monopoly it is.” Pausing she adds, “or we could just keep drinking and talk until I pass out.”

  
  
She crawls over to him, settles atop him like a blanket. He lays his hand on her back and exhales slowly. She melds against him as if piecing a puzzle together. They fit just as they should. 

“You’ve always been such a cuddly thing.” He plays with a loose tendril, spinning it around his finger.

“You should feed from me, it’s been almost a week.” Her words are so slurred he wonders if she would remember a thing in the morning.

“That’s a sweet offer my dearest, but your blood is likely ninety percent alcohol at present.”

She’s quiet and he listens to the crickets and wind. Not as loud out here. He breathes in her earthy hair and kisses her damp brow; licks the salt from his lips. He thinks about ditching the idea that they sleep on the large sectional sofa...thinks about taking her upstairs to the big bed where they can stretch out and open the large windows to catch the rare breeze. 

Hope stirs and says softly, “I’ve never had a first time.” He realizes her cheeks are damp with tears; she hadn’t been asleep at all.

“I thought you and...you had…”

“We wanted to wait a little longer.” 

He closes his eyes, lets her cry. He would do anything for her; anything to keep her alive and keep her happy. He just never thought about all of the things he couldn’t do.


	5. Chapter 5

[ h o p e ]

Hope gestures with a strip of deer jerky, mouth full. “I want to build a greenhouse. There’s got to be enough supplies in town. We haven’t even hit the third neighborhood.”

They’d been back and forth for weeks, staying at Bunny and Steve’s in between kicking in doors all through town. They had plenty of food now, and a fresh wardrobe. Soap and razors galore. New dishes and silverware. Slowly, this old cabin in the woods and the town nearby had become home. 

He lifts his mouth from the limp bunny. She scrunches her nose at the sight of its blood smeared down his chin. Tossing it aside for her to skin and cook, he replies, “we’d have to clear some trees. There’s not a lot of direct sunlight.”

She shrugs, “okay, then we’ll clear some trees.” Then, nodding towards the rabbit, “you were supposed to feed from me tonight. That little guy isn’t going to do much for you. You’re exhausted lately.”

Klaus stretches, the blood still glistening around his mouth. “And for that very reason it’s best I don’t approach your neck as an overly hungry and tired hybrid vampire.”

Hope rubs her lips together, knowing he’s right. And it’s a full moon tonight, making it harder for him to stop the feed. She’s surprised he’s even agreeing to it; the full moon stirs things. 

She cooks up the rabbit for dinner that night, flavored with fishbone salt and the canned carrots they found in one of the neighborhood houses. 

They eat on the porch, watching the sun go down. She sneaks a look at him. He’s shirtless with dirty toes and a scruffy jaw. Nothing like the polished and elegant mass murderer that brought her into this world. She imagines he’s more himself now than ever before; feral and free. Aunt Freya had always said that life comes full circle.

He takes another swig from the bottle of whiskey; they don’t bother with glasses anymore. She yawns and gets up to pull their sheets and blanket she washed earlier from the clothesline. She feels his eyes on her every move. He watches her a lot lately, she’s not sure why. Probably because there’s not much else to do outside of their daily chores.

“Water’s ready if you wanted to go take a bath first. I’m going to make the bed,” she announces, dropping a kiss on his forehead in passing. He smells like hard work and the sun. 

Hope hums to herself while tucking in the sheets and gathers their dirty clothes. She pops into the bathroom just as he’s sinking into the tub. Careful to keep her eyes averted, though being wolves makes it so it doesn’t matter much anymore, she grabs a few dirty towels from the floor.

“Your birthday is tomorrow,” he murmurs, sinking down, knees raised. 

She whirls around to face him. “You’ve kept track of the days?” She lost count forever ago.

He grins. “Of course, I’m well practiced.”

Sometimes she really does forget how old he is.

Klaus adjusts in the tub, reaches for the clump of soap. “How would you like to celebrate?” 

The soap suds up over his arms and chest. She chews on her lip in thought, leans against the sink. There isn’t much to do as it is. 

She shrugs. “I don’t know.” 

“Hm,” he hums. “Think on it, I’m sure we can make it a special occasion with a little ingenuity.”

Hope smiles with a nod. 

He sinks down and dips his head under. The milky water drips off his lashes and clings to his curls. She brings him the shampoo from their growing stockpile, sitting on the lip of the tub. He lathers and she watches with unfocused eyes. The moon glares, she feels it under her skin.

His voice tugs her attention. “This feels sublime. Elijah and I used to soak for hours.”

Hope laughs. “Um, you would soak in the bath with your brother?”

“Sure. The handmaid would merely add more boiling water whenever it grew too cold. We exchanged our best ideas that way.”

She dips her fingers into the water, making swirls and ripples. “I used to take baths with mom when I was little. We’d make bubble bikinis.”

His smile reaches his eyes. Then, softly, “would you like to join me? There are no bubble bikinis here, but I can offer good conversation.” 

Hope nods and stands. She sheds her clothes while he busies himself with uncorking a wine bottle he’d brought in with him. His eyes only flicker up towards her after she’s lowered herself under the water; she hugs her knees. It’s the perfect warmth and she hums with appreciation.

They drink, passing the bottle back and forth. Klaus tells stories of his past. There’s so many, he’s never repeated any. She’s lucky in that way. A father with a thousand years worth of memories to share. 

Eventually the drink hits her just right. Her limbs relax and her belly is warm. She sinks back against the cool porcelain and lets her legs slightly extend. He keeps talking, seamlessly grabbing one of her feet to prop on his abdomen, rubbing small circles in her arch. Her eyes flutter closed; the ecstasy reaches her throat. 

Her arms float in the water and she thinks maybe it’s not so bad that this is the end of the world. She gets to feel this way with alcohol warming her veins and spend an infinite amount of time with her father. It’s nearly perfect. Just like this. 

He stops mid-story, his fingers working their magic up her calf. Her eyes drift open to watch him tip the bottle into his mouth with his other hand, wine sloshing as he lowers it. His lips are stained. It reminds her of when he feeds. 

He tilts his head. A smile twitches. “You look so serene.” 

She smiles back.

Hope gently pulls her leg from his grasp and sits up. It’s the wine. It’s the moon. She forgets herself. Maneuvering, she lays her back against his chest. He’s frozen. In the hazy afterthought, she knows it’s different touching skin to skin; back to chest, bare bottom curved against the scratch of his hair..Their bodies sing against one another; moon bathing. 

The bottle drops from his dangling hand, rolling and spilling on the hardwood. Her head drops to his shoulder, her nose nudging beneath his chin. 

He makes a sound, like he’s trying to say something. She tilts her head, sweeps her hair away, like she usually does when reminding him to feed. He doesn’t move. Doesn’t breathe. She reaches behind her to snake her fingers around the back of his neck and guides him closer.

He’s breathing loudly now, body tense beneath hers. “Stop…” he croaks. His pulse crashes against hers. She feels it in his chest and in his stomach that hardens against each haggard breath.

She drops her hand and tucks it in his. She squeezes. It’s the moon, and it grows stronger every month. It’s the call to the only two wolves left listening.

She cries out. His fangs bury deep. She hadn’t been ready. Her body jolts and pulse flies. Blood trickles down her breasts. The water turns pink. She’s flying. It’s everything. She’s squeezing his hand so hard he moves it away to grasp her wrist and pin her in place. His thighs tighten, keeps her from wriggling. She’s a bug in a web. She’s stricken prey.

His pulls are strong. He’s taking more. Much more than usual. It’s full-bodied, like the cusp of an orgasm or a first kiss. His arm snakes around her chest, fingers push between her breasts, digging into her bones. She’s spinning. It’s a teetering feeling -she could cry out in pleasure or pain, they both feel consuming. They feel the same.

Her vision sparks like glitter thrown in a dim room. Fear infiltrates and she whimpers. He unlatches painfully slow. She exhales shakily as his tongue flattens and laps over the wound. It swirls and prods. Tastes. The fear melts into comfort. She’d let him take it all if he wanted it. His lips trail her blood along her collarbone, painting tracks of syrupy red. His hands release her wrists, wraps his arms around her. 

Against her cold skin he curses.

She shivers. 

  
  


[ k l a u s ]

She’s passed out against him. The sheets stick to his skin. He stares at the full moon out of the window accusingly, stroking a hand down Hope’s bare back. 

“The moon is not our friend, Littlest Wolf,” he whispers.

She stirs. He’s losing his mind. 

He wakes to the morning birds and an empty bed. Rubbing his face, he slides off and pads out on the cold plank flooring to the living room. Hope’s eating sliced peaches straight from a can and reading a book by the open window.

She glances up. Smiles and licks the peach juice from her lips. 

“Morning,” he offers gruffly.

“I’ve figured out what I want to do today.”

He grunts in reply, veering towards the flask of bourbon. 

“Let’s go swimming. There’s a lake house in the third neighborhood. We could-“

“It’s to rain today,” he cuts off. He unscrews the flask and takes a huge gulp.

“How do you know?”

“I just do,” he rasps, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

She’s quiet. His chest flickers with guilt. He tries to smooth it over and trudges to her, places a kiss on her head and murmurs, “happy birthday, sweetheart.”

“Thanks…”

He gives her the gift he wrapped with Christmas paper in Bunny’s closet. She brightens and unwraps in sharp tears. He’d found an empty sketch pad and a new set of paint and brushes in one of the houses. At another house he found a pen set. 

Hope wraps her arms around his neck. She smells like peaches. “Exactly what I needed.” She kisses his cheek, leaves it damp and sticky. 

“We should talk,” he blurts out. It would come out in some unfavorable way if they didn’t clear the air now. Establish some boundaries. Rules and whatnot.

She quirks a brow. “Alright…”

“Feeding during the full moon. Not happening again.”

Her eyes cast downward. She fiddles with the fray of her shorts. 

He continues, “the excess drinking needs to stop. I know it helps with...things. But it certainly didn’t help last night.”

She twists her lips. Stares pointedly at the flask in his hand. He narrows his eyes, sets it down with a thud. 

He rubs at his face. Sighs and states thickly, “I could have hurt you.”

Her head tilts. “You did.” She says it with a smile.

He flinches. Warns lowly, “I could have hurt you far worse than that.”

She shakes her head. “No you wouldn’t. But I understand. No more full moon baths while drinking to excess before feedings. Got it.”

“No more baths at all. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

She shrugs. “There’s nothing to think about.”

He watches her grab the sketchbook and pens. She disappears onto the front porch, leaving him standing rigidly with his arms crossed. 

  
  


Klaus decides to take a walk. Needs to get some of these monstrous things and feelings and pent up frustrations dispelled anywhere but near his daughter. 

He finds the trail to the creek. He kneels and glares at the bulge growing in his jeans. "Traitor," he hisses. He pulls it free, kneading and stroking.

He thinks about the way she cried out. The way her body slipped and melted against his. The way the milky pink water lapped over her peaked nipples. Her lips swollen and parted, breaths escaping like a lover. The taste of her salty skin and knowing just a little longer and he’d have sent her over the edge. 

What if he had? What if he had brought her to heightened desire and let her release it right there, nestled between his thighs with back arched in primal quakes. He squeezes his eyes shut at the thought. Cums all over a mossy rock. 

He’s disgusted with himself. But he feels a hell of a lot better.

  
  


[ h o p e ]

It rains hard while they eat their lunch. She sketches from memory; places she’s been, people she’s known. He whittles and keeps a low fire for dinner going even though it’s too warm inside. 

She sets the pen down and lets the sketchbook drop from her lap as she yawns loudly. He pauses to watch her. 

Hope throws an arm behind her, stretching her legs on the old couch. “Can we try the weed?”

His eyes widen but he smiles.

They sit on the porch where she watches him hollow out a cigarette from a pack hidden in someone’s car from town. She had wondered why he took them. He sprinkles and taps the little leaves and twists it shut at the end. 

She hands him the matchbook and watches as he expertly puffs against the flame. Smoke circles and he inhales, tilts his head back to blow out a billow of smoke. His eyes flutter shut and a smile splays. 

“What’s it like?”

“Not bad for a grocery clerk’s stash.” 

He takes another drag and passes it to her. She awkwardly brings it to her lips. The first hit makes her cough and he chuckles lazily.

He teaches her how to properly inhale, how to pass it back, and what the chemicals do to the brain. Another lesson. 

She settles back, wondering if she’ll ever be able to move from this rickety chair again. 

“What do you think?” He asks quietly. He extends his legs, boots scraping across the dusty porch.

She rolls her head to the side to look at him. His eyes are heavy and hair disheveled. His arms are draped over the sides of his chair and a content grin hints at his lips. He’s beautiful.

“I love you,” she admits.

He reaches out for her hand. She tucks hers in his and she feels warmth and shivers all the way up her arm.

[ k l a u s ]

It’s time for bed. The pages of her sketchbook lay torn out and scattered all over the house. The weed had evoked a sense of creativity in them both. Hours were spent drawing, painting, talking, and smoking some more.

“Thank you for a perfect birthday,” she whispers into the darkness.

They are on their backs. Her hand finds his. He strokes her knuckles with his thumb. She rolls her head to peer at him, he does the same; nearly nose to nose and eyes locked. 

She leans forward and kisses him. It’s short and simple against his lips. Matter of fact and sweet. It leaves a vibrating warmth. He’s too high to think about anything other than how much he loves her. 

So he tells her so with fingers through her hair. She smiles and tucks a hand under her cheek; closes her eyes, and drifts to sleep.


	6. Chapter 6

[ h o p e ]

They work hard on clearing an area for the greenhouse. It takes weeks of tree chopping, supply runs, building, and accidentally hammering her fingers -more than once. 

But it’s finished and she stands proudly as they discuss what to plant and when. Fall is edging near which will inhibit what they can harvest before the frost comes. They had found a set of heirloom seeds in the back of a home improvement store; Hope felt exuberant with possibility and promise.

The following night a full moon blooms and beckons. She smells weed and finds him in the bathtub. He looks melted.

“No sharing baths on full moons,” he reminds with a lopsided grin. 

“Not here for the bath,” she whispers, putting a finger to her mouth.

He takes a drag and holds it out for her. “Just one. The full moon likes to play her games.”

She exhales a plume, “I always thought of the moon as a him.”

“Perhaps I speak of the dark side then.”

“I can’t sleep,” she admits, handing it back to him and sliding down against the wall. “Coming back soon?”

He puts it out against his arm. She grimaces at the sizzle and smell of burning flesh. He’s been doing strange things like that lately.

“Yes, love, go wait for me.”

She obeys, an anxious feeling budding like it sometimes does after the smoke circulates in her blood. She’ll be fine once his arms are around her.

[ k l a u s ]

He pauses in the doorway. She’s in a bra and pale lavender panties. Bunny’s collection. He shouldn’t notice these details. She’s out of dry shirts to wear. He thinks about how they forgot about them hanging from the clothesline before this evening’s rain. 

She notices him and pushes up on her elbows, breasts propped like ripe fruit. He approaches in shuffling steps, drying his hair one handed with a towel. 

He tosses the towel aside and peers down at her. She worries her lip, eyes drifting to his.

She says, “weed makes people think a little differently than normal, doesn’t it.”

He murmurs, heart thumping, “deeper perhaps. More openly.”

“You promised another birthday wish.”

He sucks in air, breathes out, “did I…and you’re just now collecting?”

She shrugs. “Marijuana makes one forgetful.”

He smiles. Adjusts his boxer shorts. Scratches a spot on his arm that doesn’t itch. 

“Kiss me,” she says plainly. His brows shoot up. “A real kiss. It’s been over three years since I said goodbye to...” She blinks and looks away.

“You  _ are  _ quite high…”

“Kiss me.” Her voice wavers. Her nipples show through the thin fabric; pale lavender pebbles. Her scent sweetens the air.

He doesn’t move. Just stares. 

She sits up, reaches for him. Without a thought he takes her hand and pulls her to the edge of the bed, draws her up to her knees by the shoulders, and kisses her.

He means it to be short and sweet. No different than the one she planted before. A toe in the water that he’d take back tomorrow and punish himself for by the creek. 

But her lips part and his mouth falls into the gaps, filling them with shallow breath. Her mouth is warm and flower-petal soft. Her shuddering breath tickles his skin. It hits him everywhere. It hits her too because she pulls away and stares up at him, wondrously stunned. 

She swallows hard, licks her lips. Peers with those large eyes that make him think of Hayley. He blinks and takes a staggering step backwards. 

“Thank you,” she says, sinking onto her heels. “That was...nice.” Hope smiles tentatively.

  
  


[ h o p e ]

He’s gone the next day. Says he needs time. She waits all day. Paces, cleans, organizes, drinks, smokes, cries, drinks some more. She gets angry. He knows -fucking  _ knows, _ what being left does to her. It’s The Hollow all over again. It’s panic and the vast cold emptiness the space he lives in leaves when he’s not there to fill it.

It’s well into the night and she drinks most of his favorite whiskey from town just to piss him off. She writes him hate letters she’ll leave on his pillow -only to crumple them and toss them into the crackling fireplace. She sketches things she knows he doesn’t want to talk about...things that will gut him. She burns those too. 

It’s late, the whiskey is gone. She holds a glass of wine that she knows she’s too drunk to drink. But she wants to make a point when he walks in; she’s fine without him. Fine enough to drink wine and lounge around in his favorite shirt. The room spins and she cries all over again.

“Bastard,” she wails, throwing her full glass into the fireplace. It shatters and the fire roars. 

It’s too much. Everyone’s gone and he needs time. So much time that he leaves her alone in this home they’ve made. This home they’ve laughed, cried, fought, built together...and kissed. She covers her face, tears sticking to her palms.

Stumbling outside she stands on the porch. With everything that hurts, she screams. Blood curdling and as loud as she can expel it. In seconds she’s whooshed back into the house, his hand clamped over her mouth. She bites, the skin splits with ease. He grunts in pain, letting go.

“Why did you  _ do that _ ?!” she yells, spitting his blood purposefully into his face. He flinches and reaches for her. She moves out of reach, angrily pointing, voice shaking so intensely that it’s unrecognizable to her ears. “you have no idea…” 

“I’m sor-” 

She slaps him. His head whips to the side. It’s not satisfying enough. She wants to make him bleed. Her fists fly and he’s backed into a corner, taking some blows but easily dodging most. Eventually he grabs her wrists. She knees at his groin. She barely misses.

She’s still flailing when he pulls her into a tight hug. She tries to push him away over and over, nearly succeeds. He drops to his knees, grips her hip bones, rests his chin against her heaving belly, stares up at her with pleading eyes.

“Forgive me. Please.” A single tear drips and leaves a track down his cheek. She swipes at it, rougher than she means. But she’s drunk. 

She rakes her fingers through his hair, grabs a fistful, yanking his head back. He lets her. She hisses, “don’t do that to me  _ ever  _ again.”

Hope lets go of his hair and he presses a kiss just below her navel. He says against her skin, “I swear.”

She sways and he’s quick to stand and steady her with an arm around her lower back. He carries her to bed, she feels sick but can’t form the words. 

“How much did you drink?” He tugs off her shirt. She realizes it’s covered in wine and blood. A vague memory of slicing her hand accidentally on glass and wiping it off on her shirt surfaces. 

“Whiskey’s gone.” She sinks into the mattress. Reaches for him with extended arms. 

He gets in aside her; he lays his head on her chest. She strokes his hair and doesn’t even think about what she’s saying or doing. Doesn’t even think about his lips resting on the curves of her bare breasts. 

“Where did you go?”

“I walked to town. Sat in Steve’s office.” She runs a finger along his ear. His scruff scratches her skin as he adds, “and I thought about you.”

“Must have been a lot of thinking.” Her words come out slurred. She wonders if he can even understand her.

“I cannot leave you and if I stay…”

“You’ll kiss me again.”

He’s quiet. 

The room’s still spinning. She tells him, “I want to kiss you again. Now-again.”

He exhales slow. It tickles her nipple; hardens it. Her fingers rake down his back. It’s slick with sweat.

“You’re drunk.”

It’s more than true. But she wants him against her. She wants his heartbeat, his words, his lips. She wants all of him and she wants to know it’s forever. That’s what being drunk makes her realize. No guilt, anxiety, or filters. It’s just the two of them and he’s all she’ll ever have. 

She’s always loved him more than anything. And now life is different. She loves him different. Because now she can.

Hope flips him over. It’s hard and awkward but she manages it. He’s mildly amused, she thinks. She doesn’t know why she even did it. Maybe so she could look at him. Read his thoughts. Figure out if he’d continually need space from her. Or if in the morning he’d have rules to follow and they’d never speak of the kiss or her confession again.

The room is dark, but a glow from the fire still burns in the living room; it casts enough light down the hall to outline his features. His hands gently rest on her hips. He strokes her skin with his thumbs. 

“If you throw up on me I’ll put you on toilet duty for a month,” he murmurs. 

She watches his eyes, wondering if he’ll break and glance at her bare breasts. Wonders why she even wants him to.

She leans down, hovers over his face, hair draped around them. His hands glide up her body to rest at her upper arms, steadying her. She presses her lips to his. He turns his head, pushing gently. 

“Stop that, you’ll pass out on my mouth,” he says lightly.

Half frustrated - half playful, she grabs his cheeks and smooshes his lips into a pucker. He laughs silently through his nose and she kisses him again, this time biting his lower lip. He flips her so fast the room spins.

She gazes up at him. His eyes trail all over her face. “You won’t remember any of this in the morning.”

She wonders if it’s opinion or if he’s trying to compel her. The thought twists funny in her gut.

He kisses the tip of her nose. Her chin. Her forehead. The hollow of her throat. Everywhere but her mouth. She arches, makes an unnecessary sound of pleasure. Her fingers, splayed behind her on the mattress, twitch with every kiss he nudges against her. She draws her thighs up, capturing his body in a way that forces his pelvis to press into hers. 

“It’s time to sleep this off,” he murmurs; thumbs her cheek.

He rolls off of her and moves to his side, facing away. She thinks about wrapping an arm around him..breathe his skin all night. But, the whiskey steals her away and she drifts into a heavy sleep.


	7. Chapter 7

[ k l a u s ]

The leaves rustle from a lazy midday breeze. The days and nights are starting to cool; a season’s change is near. It’s overcast again and Hope’s worried about the plants. He thinks she just needed an excuse to keep her distance.

He steps into the greenhouse, she glances up, offers him a quick grin, and quietly returns to repotting. 

Klaus folds his arms. “Are you ready for lunch?”

“I’m not hungry,” she replies too cheerily. It’s a show. An act. She’s bad at it.

He stands, waiting for her to say something. Anything. But she continues with her work in silence. 

“Very well,” he murmurs. 

The roof still needs repairs and clearly she needs space. 

  
  
She hunts later without him. He has early dinner ready for her when she returns with a young deer slung around her shoulders. He cleans the carcass while she eats and scribbles in her journal. 

He jabs the knife into a tree stump. Wipes the blood from his hands. “Would you like to venture into town tomorrow?” 

She glances up from the porch table he’d made from extra firewood, sets her pen down. “What for?” 

“Autumn turns to winter fairly quickly. We could use extra coats and blankets. New books to keep us company when we’re snowed in…” Klaus wipes his brow, peers at her expectantly. Usually she’s excited. 

Hope thrusts another spoonful of rabbit stew into her mouth. Her words muffle between chews, “does it even snow much here?” 

“Sometimes.”

Hope picks up her pen and taps it in thought. He wonders if she’s angry with him. He cocks his head. Or if she remembers trying to kiss him again.

She leans over, scrawling some more. Then stands and tears the paper, thrusts it into his hand, stating, “I’m going to take a bath.”

He watches her gather the water buckets and kick her mud-caked boots against the porch step. When she disappears through the door, he looks down at the note.

_I don’t want you to feel like you can’t leave if you need to -as long as it’s not for forever. You’re right about the full moon. I’m sure Steve and Bunny wouldn’t mind if once a month one of us stays there so we can avoid another mistake. I_ _’m sorry for asking what I did of you. I should be trying harder to fight what the full moon and this loneliness does to me. If succumbing to it means losing what we have as father and daughter, I’ll do anything to prevent that. I’m sorry. I love you._

He folds it and stuffs it in his back pocket; trudges inside and leans against the wall outside of the bathroom. She’s humming softly and he hears the water stirring around her.

“It’s not your fault,” he says through the door. 

The sounds of bathing pause. He hears her inhale and exhale slowly. Her voice echoes, “what do you think of my plan?”

He slides to the floor, bends his knees and rests his head back. “I don’t think we should split up, even once a month.”

“Dad…” Her voice trails off. He waits but she says nothing more. 

He stares at a spot on the ceiling. Thinks about his words. “There is no one left but us. I wish I could change that for you.”

He hears the water sloshing. Thinks perhaps she’s continued bathing.

He closes his eyes. Holds in a breath. Lets it out slowly. “Hope?”

She hums in response, the sound of an opening shampoo cap echoes. 

He just asks. Because he needs to understand. Is it the moon? The alcohol? Or does she wake with a clear mind knowing what’s true. “What is it that you want?”

There’s silence. It stretches and he wonders if he’s upset her...if he’s addressed this all wrong. He thinks about that fateful day she came into the world, torn too soon from her mother’s womb. He swore to her, squirming in his arms, that he’d always do right by her. 

Sometimes that comes to mean doing things in a way that doesn’t feel right for himself. 

He croaks, “And I can’t stop the full moons.” The thought bleeds in: _but it’s every moon now, isn’t it._ He folds his hands; clenches his jaw.

The door clicks open and she’s standing over him, wrapped in a towel. She lowers to sit, hair dripping and toes pruned. 

“I think…” her voice cracks. She swallows and closes her eyes. He fights the urge to scoop her into his arms. She wets her lips and tries again, gaze shifting to his, “I think I’m struggling with knowing I’ll never be touched again.” Her brows nit and furrow. “Unless it’s by you.”

His throat tightens. His palms grow damp. But he holds her gaze. Her eyes flick back and forth between his own. She’s waiting for him to say something. When he doesn't, she looks away.

Hope softly clears her throat, “I can handle being alone as long as I know you’re always coming back.”

He rubs at his eyes, pressing so hard there are explosions of color. There’s an idea that brewed while he had sat at Steve’s desk motionless and staring out of a window for hours. A way to try and keep their relationship intact and separate from her needs...her very understandable and heightened needs. Because this can’t be about his. Hope’s needs and wants replaced his own since the moment she drew her first breath.

“Only under the full moons,” he states, dropping his hands heavily to his lap. “Instead of separating, we just...we let it in and let it out.”

She quiets; tightens her towel and draws her knees up. Then softly, “and the rest of the time?”

He glances at her. Sees the wistfulness in the shape of her eyes and purse of her lips. “We don’t speak of it. We put it away.” 

She nods slowly. After a moment of staring at one another, she shakes her head as if clearing away a thought, and stands. She offers her hand and says lightly, “come on, let’s focus on something else for a while.”

He lets her help him up and they shift back into their routine. It’s the only thing that keeps him sane.

  
  


[ h o p e ]

They open all of the windows as evening shifts into night. It’s billowy and crisp, the cabin breathes and the candle flames dance. Crickets trill like sleigh bells and the glugging bullfrogs from the overgrown yard add to the forest’s music.

It reminds her of the nights on Grandma Mary’s porch. Hayley would wrap a blanket around her and drink Jackson’s favorite whiskey. Johnny Cash played softly from the old record player in the window while Grandma Mary rocked in her chair. They’d talk about the Crescents while Hope would think about her father. She’d wish he was there so they could spend every moment together catching fireflies and painting vines up the porch railing. She wished a lot of things as a daughter who felt every second of her father’s absence deeply. Who knew so many of them would come true.

“Would you like a drink, love?”

Glancing up from her nails she nods. She’s painting them ruby red with the polish she took from the gas station. He pours her some rum and brings it to her spot on the rug. She’s on her stomach, feet up behind her and toes wedged under the couch cushions.

“Thanks.”

He hums a response and steps over her to sink into the couch. She drags the polish brush over the last nail, then rolls to her back and fans them above her face. 

He swirls his glass, then takes a sip. “Come, I’ll braid your hair.” 

“Nuh uh,” she tosses the polish at him. “But you can paint my toes.”

He pulls her feet into his lap, jerking her playfully down the rug. His hands are cold against her skin. She closes her eyes and relaxes, lays her palms on the tops of his feet. 

“Why are you so cold?” Hope rubs up and down his icy skin.

“I’m dead.”

“Ha...” she rolls her eyes. Pushing up on her elbows she asks gently, “you need to feed don’t you?” 

He paints her big toe with precise strokes. There are many perks to having an artist father. He replies lowly, “I’m alright. The alcohol keeps me warm.” 

He’d been hovering around doing work and making her snacks all day so he must have skipped his woodland creature meal. Guilt seeps in.

She doesn’t want to push or argue. But she hates when he goes hungry. She hates the thought of him sitting there uncomfortably cold trying to numb it all with alcohol. It’s no different than his unease over her skipping lunch. 

“Feed from me. It doesn’t have to be my neck.”

Klaus finishes her last toe in silence, screws the bottle tight, and sets it aside. He grasps her hips with his feet and digs his toes into her sides, tickling her. She sputters with laughter. It’s been a while since he’s been at all playful. 

“That laugh…” he murmurs, head tilted. She loves how his accent warms every word it touches. She loves how sometimes he’ll look at her like she’s everything.

Hope twists out of his grasp and scoots back, pats the space on the rug beside her. “Come warm up by the fire while I shut all the windows.”

“You can leave them open, I know you like the fresh air while sleeping.” He slides off the couch and extends on the rug like a lazy lion. 

He plucks her arm from where it lay between them. “I shall feed from you but while I do, you must tell me a story of your own.”

A smile spreads on her face. “Okay. Deal.”

The fire glows on his face. She watches his veins trickle like tree roots beneath his amber eyes, his fangs extend with a tilt of his head. She reaches out and touches one, pushes the pad of her middle finger to test how sharp it really is.

She sucks in a breath. “Ouch.” Blood beads and drips.

His veins take deeper root. She drags the blood lightly along his lips, painting on crimson. “That’s a lovely shade on you,” she jokes in a breathy chuckle.

He grabs her wrist. Almost too hard. She freezes. Watches. 

“Story time,” he reminds just before biting into her palm. Her fingers twitch and ache. His draws of her blood are slow. She knows it’s because he wants to make it hurt less. 

Settling back, Hope tells him about the time Kol and Davina flew her and Josie out to Italy. The way they drank wine under fruit trees and rode bikes through town. The fights Davina and Kol would have; Hope had to use her magic to keep a frying pan from flying into Kol’s face. 

“It was very hillbilly domestic,” she giggles, shaking her head, lost in the memory. Then, sobering, “I miss them. All of them.”

Klaus takes a final pull of blood. Her entire arm aches. He cleans the wound with his tongue. She watches and clenches her thighs. The veins slowly disappear and his eyes settle back to their slate blue. He gently lays her arm back down, and sucks the blood from his lower lip with a soft smack. 

She thinks about listening to the violin caressing the mood from Davina’s ivy covered balcony. Josie’s hand tucking into hers secretly under the blanket. “I miss music”.

His head tilts. “What’s that look on your face?” She never grows tired of his accent and gentle tone. She wonders why her mother never fell in love with all these little things.

“It's just love.” She shrugs. 

He chuckles and reaches over, cups her cheek. “How did I make such a tender little thing.”

  
  


[ k l a u s ]

She told him stories all night. He watched the way she talked with her hands and how her eyes turned kitten-like when she laughed. She kept refilling his glass in between sentences, getting up to grab herself more mint tea she keeps brewed in jars. Poked the fire and pulled lint off his shirt. 

He drank and drank, living in her memories. Learned of who she was when he wasn’t around. Envious of those who had been.

Now, she’s cleaning the last of the dishes, humming softly. He lays on his back, hands folded behind his head, ankles crossed. It’s been a long while since he’s felt the room spin like this...the calm warmth of a good rum clouding his usually hyper-aware and overstretched mind. 

Hope appears above him. She smiles, shakes her head. “Come to bed.” Her hands wiggle above, gesturing for his. He lets her pull him into a sitting position. 

“I’m right behind you,” he assures. Gestures for her to go ahead. She ruffles his hair, fingernails scratching his scalp and leaving him with chill bumps along his arms. 

He watches her blow out the candles and bring one with her, hand cupped around the flame. Her hair is so long, it reaches the small of her back. Makes him think of Mother. 

Klaus shuffles outside to pee. Groans in relief, chin tilted towards the moon. He turns to go back in, but notices she left the greenhouse open. His steps are unsteady and he grins at himself. Rum is one of his favorites; remembers pissing off the side of a bridge with Elijah after mugs of grog and cards with nobility. 

He secures the greenhouse, breathes in the earthy smells of fresh soil and impending rain. The flickering light in the blackness of the outdoors catches his eye. Takes a few steps to glance into their bedroom. Hope sets the candle on the nightstand. 

He’s about to turn to walk back inside. But something keeps him planted. Curiosity, perhaps. She stands before the old full-length mirror propped in the corner; touches her face, runs a hand through her hair. Bites her lip and looks down. Shakes her head and turns away, pulling the shirt over her head and tossing it aside.

Her breasts bounce with each step she takes. He’s seen her this way many times. After a wolf run or in passing after baths. But he’s never... _seen_ her. Not in the way too much rum and a full moon’s promise allows for. 

The candle light gives her skin warmth and movement. She’s beautiful. A moving painting. He thinks perhaps she doesn’t even realize it. She holds up a nightgown, pulls it over the swell of her breasts and smoothes it over her body. Another selection from Bunny’s collection. It’s basic and thin. Not meant to be sexy, but on her… 

He shakes his head, rolls his eyes at letting the drink get to him. Shuffles back inside.

He climbs into bed, facing her back. He runs a finger down her spine, lightly tickling her lower back. She shivers. 

“Dad…” she says softly.

“Hm?” He moves closer, the mattress squeaking. He drapes his arm around her, pulling her close.

She rests a hand on his. He hears the smile in her voice, “so you like rum, hm?”

He chuckles softly. Burrows his face in her hair and breathes her in. “I do.”

“You’re the cuddly one now.” She sounds amused but sighs contentedly. 

He thinks of the way she looked at herself in the mirror. Almost as if she didn’t like what she saw. He thinks about the full moon coming soon and how he might make her see what he sees.

“Do you want to know something?” He realizes he’s slurring. 

She turns around, the mattress screeching at them yet again. Taps him lightly on the nose with a ruby red nail and asks, “what?”

“You’re beautiful.”

Her face transforms and she laughs. She cups his chin and coos sweetly, as if he were a boy and she a woman, “you’re adorable. We’ll find more rum.”

“I don’t think I’ve told you that as much as I should have.” 

She’s quiet and blinks slowly. He looks at her lips, shaped much like his own. The room feels wavy and warm. He forgot how nice it is to drink just a little too much. How loose the tongue becomes. How light secrets feel. 

“Well I was made by two really beautiful people.”

“That’s true,” he grins. He wants to understand something more. Knows even beneath the alcohol that it’s intrusive to ask. But…curiosity wins. “Why did you and Landon decide to wait?”

Her eyes widen. “Oh...um, well. We tried a few times and it always...it just never…” she sighs in exasperation. “We decided to wait until it felt more natural.”

“I see…” 

She twists a strand of hair around her finger, eyes unfocused and lips pursed in thought. “We enjoyed kissing. And touching. But...anything further and it’s like the chemistry just left the room.”

“It’s intimidating the first time…and with someone like you, I’m sure he was terrified.” Klaus muses. “I’ve been with more women than I can count and _I’m_ intimidated by the thought of disappointing you. The first time is sacred.”

Her expression is unreadable. He realizes his loose tongue betrayed him. The alcohol muddied it all up between mind and heart. They never agreed to make love. Never talked about what might transpire under the full moons. In fact he was sure she would be satiated with anything but that for a very long time. Many full moons. Maybe never even crossing certain boundaries.

He closes his eyes and presses his lips together.

“I’m going to get you some water and then we’ll get to sleep,” she murmurs. 

He doesn’t think he likes rum anymore. 


	8. Chapter 8

[ h o p e ]

Hope points down the street. “I remember seeing a closet full of ski equipment in the third house. I’m sure they have winter clothes.” 

She follows Klaus through a line of backyards, grimacing at the smell of death coming from a swimming pool. She peers into it, spotting several rotting rodents caught in a mound of floating leaves. 

They decided early that morning to venture into town. Hope assumed it’s because he didn’t want to talk about his drunken slip up. So, she doesn’t bring it up. But it’s all she thinks about.

“We’ll have to climb this,” Klaus calls. She looks up at the iron privacy fence covered in dead vines. 

She jumps it with ease, landing on her feet just the way her mom taught her. He does the same, and silently takes the lead into the looming brick house. The smell blasts her and she remembers why they didn’t search this one for long. It reeks of mold from a leaky roof and backed up plumbing.

“Gross, lets grab some jackets and go,” she mutters. Hope takes the stairs in two, turns into the master bed. 

The smell hits her first. Then the sight. 

“Dad…”

He must have heard it in her voice. He flashes into the room, halting in front of the bed. He holds his hand out behind him. Motions for her to stand back. She doesn’t move.

He approaches the bed slowly, brows furrowed. The body looks maybe three or four days deceased. A woman, middle aged and tied to the bed. Klaus reaches out to gently move her head to the side. 

“Bite marks…” he murmurs. “We need to leave.” He turns and ushers her out, “ _ now _ ”.

They crash through the house, running towards the side door; she’s first through it... Something snags and she hears it before she feels it. An arrow shoots out from its rigged position near the door. She cries out in searing pain. Blood sleeps through her shirt within seconds.

Klaus skids to a halt and glances around wildly before tending to her. He touches her face, “it will be alright. Hold still.”

She shrieks as he yanks the arrow from her gut. It snaps and splinters and leaves pieces inside. He scoops her up and she barely remembers the whirring flash it took to get them deep into the neighborhood woods; the pain is unreal. 

He lays her on a bed of pine needles and rips her shirt down the middle. He yanks another piece from the pool of blood. The birds flee high in the treetops from her shrieks. He curses and soothes, fingers digging into her body, pulling splinters of wood one by one from her insides. 

He’s pleading with her to forgive him for the excruciating extraction as everything fades to black. No more pain.

  
  
  
She’d read all of the stories -knew exactly who her father was. The murder, torture, and pure madness. But she’s never witnessed it herself. Not since popping in on him as a child, and never before that. The memory of his veiny eyes and bloody mouth used to plague her. It was the beginning and the end of her fairytale.

She watches him circle the two vampires. He’s terrifying. She feels the raw evil radiating from his every step. She sees the pure power he holds over his victims. A dark alpha. Top of the food chain and smarter than anyone in the room. 

She’s entranced. 

When she’d come to, she found herself back in the musty home’s garage, her father interrogating two people secured with car chains. 

“Now…” he calmly makes another deep slice in the older man’s abdomen; he groans like a deflating balloon. Blood spills to the floor. Hope can’t stop staring at it. “Tell me where the others are.”

“I swear,” the man rasps behind a thick beard, “ain’t nobody but us.”

Klaus peers at him, hands tucked neatly behind his back, tapping the knife in methodical clanks. “Should I ask your traveling companion, then?”

The man shakes his head, rattles the chains. “Don’t you fuckin’ touch her!”

Klaus smiles. Hope shivers at the way it’s delivered; colder than hatred. They didn’t get him wrong in the history books. 

“It would do you well to answer my questions with honesty.”

The woman speaks up, “just tell them, Daddy.”

Klaus brightens. “Ah brilliant, she’s your daughter?” He gestures towards Hope, “coincidentally, this is mine. Do you know how long it took me to fish out the tiny shards of your arrow from her insides?”

“Let her go,” the man croaks.

Klaus peers at him, cocks his head; never breaks eye contact as he stops in front of the woman. “I don’t like seeing my daughter in pain.” 

He shoves the knife deep in the woman’s gut; twists with a sickening wet snap. Hope gasps but the sound is lost between the man’s angry screams and the woman’s agony.

“We’re just hungry,” the woman chokes. She sputters up blood.

“Oh yes, I’m sure we’re all quite hungry. And unfortunately for you, you’ve gone looking for food in the wrong place.”

He pulls out the blade, letting her blood spill, strolls up to the man, raises the soaked knife and hovers at his neck. The man hollers and thrashes around. 

“A father’s love for his daughter is quite special. What would you do for your daughter? Because I would do anything for mine.” 

The man quakes, the chain rattles. He speaks rapidly. “There’s a group of us. We split up to cover more territory. We just look for humans to capture and feed on. The one tied upstairs was immune, we had her from the beginning. We brought her here to feed on while we looked around but she tried to hurt my daughter.”

“How many are there?”

“Eight. That’s it, I swear. We been together since this all went down, started in Tennessee and been workin’ our way through the south.”

“And where are they now?”

“A day’s walk from here last I know of. Town called Raburn.”

Klaus turns slowly, faces her. Their eyes lock. His expression softens from the cold killer holding a bloody knife to the man who braids her hair and soothes her to sleep every night.

“Look away, sweetheart.”

She does. Squeezes her eyes shut at the sounds that follow. The smell of blood is overpowering. Her stomach rolls.

His hand gently finds hers, and she trails behind him as he tugs her back home. She doesn’t question why he didn’t spare their lives or why he didn’t just compel them for the truth.

  
  


[ k l a u s ]

She follows him, dragging the axe in the dirt behind her. “You’ll be outnumbered. And what if there’s a lot more than eight?!”

He turns, stalks up to her. “Who am I?”, he runs his knuckles along her cheekbone. “You forget your history lessons so easily?”

Hope pushes away. “I should be there. Fighting by your side. I might not have my powers anymore, but I still have my wolf. I’m not afraid to kill.”

He takes the axe from her hand and tosses it towards the unchopped wood. “I don’t want you to have to live with that.” He takes her hands in his, squeezes and promises in hushed soothing tones, “I will return by the full moon. And I will give whatever it asks of me for you.”

Her voice croaks, “what if you don’t?” She leans forward, pushes warm lips to his. 

He understands her fear. There’s no time if he’s to intercept the vampires. 

“I can’t,” he says against her mouth.

She pulls away, their lips smack apart. “I know.” Her eyes are heavy and he sees in the way she carries her shoulders that she’s scared she will never lay eyes on him again. That he’ll be captured and hidden away to desiccate forever alone. 

He flashes away before she can convince him to stay.

  
  
  
The full moon looms and sears a path back home. Back to Hope. 

The vampires were suffering and it took days between each victim to find the next. Likely the last ones he’d ever see. He knew...even as the youngest one pled with genuine innocence...that to leave any vampire in their paths alive meant leaving one more threat to his daughter. She is a dying breed. Might even be the very last human left. Her blood feeds him, keeps him strong, and he makes her life as safe and beautiful as possible. It’s what a father should do.

He finds her in front of the fire. She’s curled up on the couch, pillow bunched under her pressed cheek. The sheet lays tangled around her bare legs. It looks as though she’s been sleeping on the couch the weeks he was gone.

The fire pops. She doesn’t stir. The kitchen is a mess and he wonders how many bottles of wine she emptied in his absence. 

He maneuvers around the couch and kneels by her. Tentatively tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, whispers her name. Hope jolts awake, grabs his wrist with a hissed curse.

Recognition floods her face and she sits up, throwing her arms around him. Her hair is damp and smells like their citrus shampoo. 

“I was just dreaming of you,” she whispers against his neck.

He stands, wraps his arms around her waist and carries her to the bed, just like when she was a child.

She lands softly, reaches up and touches his face; traces the circles under his eyes. “You’re hungry.” 

“They’d been feeding on…” He pauses, looks away. “I couldn’t stomach their blood.”

She shudders. “You got them all?”

He nods; slides off the bed and undresses down to his boxers. 

“Please feed, you look...you look unwell.”

He climbs back in from the foot of the bed, mattress creaking under the press of his knees, glides his palms up her calves and tugs gently. She watches his every movement, still and silent. He bends one of her legs and lowers to his elbows; leans his cheek against her inner thigh and reaches up to grasp her hand that lays at her belly. 

“If it hurts. Tell me to stop.”

Her brows shoot up. Asks whisper soft and tentatively, “what?”

“I returned on the full moon, as promised. There’s another promise to uphold.”

Her lips part and eyes rove his face. She nods. Bites her lip. The hunger gnaws and he hopes this isn’t the worst mistake...the wrongest choice. She stares down, so trusting. So willing.

He sinks his fangs into her inner thigh. The skin splits like rice paper there, the veins thick and pulsing no differently than the neck. She smells like youth and need. Tastes like it too. She makes a sound and he makes one too. Her leg quakes with each pull of blood. 

She’s pressing and arching against his arm that lays nestled between her legs. He feels the soft scratch of her panties -little circles, subtle movements; strains his vampire hearing and listens to the wet skin beneath. Breathes beyond the coppery tinge of her blood to find the scent that’s been beckoning. 

He takes his final sip and slides free. He licks the wound as if it were the very core that swells and soaks beneath his arm. A breathy moan releases and she arches her spine.

“Please…” she whispers. 

“Shh...” His heart thumps and adrenaline rolls and stirs in his blood-filled gut. He slides his arm down and she trembles against the friction. His fingers catch and hook into the thin elastic of her panties. 

He pauses. He’d thought about this moment in his solitude; layered the scenarios and consequences like a tightly wound onion. He’s not ready to take what was never meant for him to take. But he would quiet what the moon ignites. Perhaps that could be enough. 

She wriggles and he cuts her a look.  He yanks her panties down and she stills. Doesn’t even breathe. The guilt is somewhere. It is. And it isn’t.

Deep flushed pink and swollen. Glistening and subtly contracting with anticipation. Young. Eager. A small and neat tuft of damp hair. He’s always been entranced by the female form. He’s seen more than he could ever count. And it’s hers that makes his stomach flutter and bloom -as if this was his first time instead.

Her pulse hammers. It jars her belly like the sharp kicks of a baby in a cramped womb. If she were a young thing he met at a bar he’d kiss her mouth with teeth and tongue. He’d nip and knead at her breasts so that she’d curl her toes at the sensitivity. But even then...no young little thing from a bar had ever stared at him like this… Had never been so aroused under the mere probe of his gaze. 

Klaus shifts on the mattress so that his hands draw under her thighs. He thinks of the way she touches herself while she thinks he’s sleeping. Exploring and unsure. Quick to succumb, but never whole bodied release. Subdued.

If he forgets, for this moment, who inhabits this body -lithe and tight and thrumming with desire- he knows what would undo her in shuddering release. 

But. He peers up the plane of her body, breasts pebbled under her night shirt, hair tangled all around her flushed face; he  _ knows _ her. And it scares the hell out of him. Never has he unconditionally loved another. There has always been conditions with his siblings. His lovers. The women he thought he could love forever. 

If he lets these nights under the full moon bleed into the following nights...what might happen to the way he feels for his daughter. The purest form of love he knows. The most unbreakable bond that he never looked to forge -it had been instantaneous the very moment her tiny bloodied body had been placed in Hayley’s arms. 

The moon bares down on the scene. He gently spreads her thighs enough to grant him space to fill it with his touch and tongue. 

“It is time to pay the moon our debt,” he murmurs. She grasps the pillow behind her. Sucks on her lower lip. Watches under a fan of lashes. 

“Are you nervous?”, he asks. 

She nods.

He presses a kiss near the tuft of hair. Closes his eyes and tells himself it’s the end of the world afterall. Blinks open and seeks out her gaze like a raft as he’s swept out to sea. She gives him an unreadable expression. It makes everything electric and he moves swiftly; tastes her with flattened tongue. 

She lets out a soft  _ oh _ . The softest swell of flesh; a faint tinge of sweetness like the aftertaste of a ripe berry. Delectable. As if she were made just for him.

Oh yes, she will unravel quickly. He feels it on his tongue; marvels at how she drips like honey. He wants to lap it all, explore every line and dip and crevice. He slides a palm over her lower belly, presses and uses a finger to pull the bundle of nerves to his ready mouth; suckles gently. 

The subdued pleasure is broken. Her body responds the way it wants and she jolts and moves along with him. His chin is drenched with her. Her soft breaths turn to audible sharp moans and he almost stops to listen; to watch. It’s the sweetest sound. 

He wants to feel her insides clench around his fingers but she’s already letting go. Her body made so sensitive to touch, so quick to build and fall. Her hands drop to his hair, grip his skull. Her neck arches and swollen lips part. He throbs and swallows and breathes against her contracting flesh. He strains his eyes peering up at her, knowing it is he who summons the most lovely cries from her heaving chest. 

She lays still long after he dries his mouth on the back of his palm and wipes her gently with the sheet; her eyes heavy, unfocused, and breathing deeply. He eases down aside her and watches. Waits.

Eventually, she lazily rolls her head to the side. Her cheeks are flushed and eyes hooded. He smooths her damp hair away from her brow.

Voice breathy, she asks, “and sex is better than that?”

His lips curl into a grin. He traces the line of her jaw with a finger. “It can be.” 

She smiles, closes her eyes. He waits for her to say more, but her body relaxes and breathing deepens.

He leans over to blow out the candle, places a kiss to her forehead, and lays on his side. He can still taste her and he doesn’t wait long for sleep to take him too.


	9. Chapter 9

[ h o p e ]

She quietly steps outside, hovers on the porch. He’s chopping more wood for the upcoming winter. He’s in only his boots and jeans that sit low on his narrow hips. His bare back gleams with sweat under the sharp morning sun.

The rule edges into her thoughts:  _ We put it away. We never speak of it. _

Easier said than done. She pulls her lips in, musters a neutral face, wills her heart to slow.

“Morning,” she calls. Flinching, she realizes maybe too brightly.

He thrusts the axe into the nearby block and wipes his brow. Turns to face her. He’s much better at looking neutral than she.

“Good morning,” he calls back. He nods to the thermos on the porch railing. “Kept some coffee warm.”

She nods her thanks, looks down as she walks. He returns to chopping so she sits on the porch steps to watch while sipping at the bitter coffee. The leaves are starting to turn on the oaks and maples. She quints up at the brilliant reds and oranges. Autumn has always been her favorite season.

The coffee settles well, she feels a burst of energy so she decides to check on the crops. Stooping down, she tightens the laces of her boots. When she straightens she finds him standing in her way.

“I think we should do something enjoyable today. Before the weather gets too cold.”

She blinks, startled. “What do you have in mind?”

“We could go swimming in the lake. Stay the night at one of the houses in the lake community. We haven’t gone through all of those anyway.”

Her heart picks up, feels herself smile. She stands there, staring up at him. He smiles back, slow and thoughtful. No hint of regret or guilt on his face. Was he just hiding it? Or was he way better than she at  _ putting it all away. Never speaking of it.  _ She may be functioning and going through the motions, but the memory of the way his mouth felt and what he looked like after she came in shudders...that wouldn’t stop playing on a loop in her mind. 

His brows slowly raise in question. She realizes she’s been standing there frozen in his gaze for a while. Growing wet all over again. The flush creeps up her neck and she ducks her head.

“Go pack,” he urges softly.

  
  
Hope packs her things and his as he secures the home and greenhouse. They walk in silence, taking a different path every time. He’s still paranoid that there will be others and if there’s a well worn path between home and town, there will be unwelcome visitors.

She picks the house with the huge screened in back porch facing the lake. They break in the side door, walk through a laundry room, and drop their things in the middle of a large open space. It’s always easy to tell which families hunkered down when the virus swept and which ones moved to safe zones. Hardly anyone knew what to do after the EMP struck. They’ve found a lot of corpses in the lower income areas.

This family must have left quickly. They left a lot behind and even had a note left for someone traveling behind them. Hope plucks it off of the refrigerator:  _ we went ahead to zone 3. Harvey thinks we’ll be back soon enough once this thing blows over. Couldn’t risk staying with the cut off to medical supplies. Wish us luck dear brother, and stay safe.  _

She crumples the paper up and tosses it. She likes to pretend everyone is just away, not gone. It’s too heavy. 

There’s canned food and bottled water in the pantry. Bottles of wine too. Seems they never have to worry about a lack of alcohol in these communities.

Klaus wordlessly strolls around the space, looking at books lining the tall shelves in the living room. Hope walks out of the kitchen area, taking the step down onto the plush carpet. She flops on the long yellow retro couch. The walks always exhaust her.

“I’ll make you lunch.”

Hope yawns and tosses an arm over her eyes. “That’s okay, I can do it. Why don’t you scope out our bedroom for tonight.” 

“Already thinking about sleeping and we’ve yet to have any fun,” he tsks. 

  
  
She must have dozed off because the smell of food beckons her from the couch. He smiles from the kitchen, plate extended. She reaches for it with a sleepy, “thank you daddy.”

He sits aside her while she eats. When she’s finished, he reaches over to swipe the crumbs from her face, and says, “you must come see where we will be sleeping tonight.”

Hope examines his neutral expression but catches the glimmer of amusement in his eyes. She follows him up the stairs, they pop and creak in protest. There’s a layer of dust on the handrail. He pauses at the room to the left, tosses her a grin and quirk of the brow. 

She walks in and sees a normal room with a…

“Is that a water bed?”

“Indeed,” he grins wider. They had just talked about how she’d never even heard of these until he brought up the huge one he owned in the early nineties. Now she can actually feel one for herself.

She laughs and tests it out with her hands. It rolls and bounces, makes sloshy noises underneath. Not as squishy and sinking as she imagined. She crawls on and lays like a starfish in the middle. 

“Oh wow...look,” she giggles, pointing above her head. He crawls in purposely bouncing her all over the place. She laughs and makes room for him. Joining her on his back, they stare at their reflections in the mirror attached to the underside of the wooden canopy. 

“It was a shame when these went out of style.”

She bounces her body some more, letting the water roll beneath them. “I’m surprised it was even a thing! It’s not firm enough for me. I like our creaky hard mattress at home.”

“They weren’t revered for aiding a bad back. It was more useful for…” He trails off and gives her reflection a knowing look.

Hope smiles, “ah yes, I get it.”

It’s strange staring up at each other while talking. She’s not used to seeing her own expressions and body language. Does she always look so...nervous; like she’s anticipating something? She doesn’t feel nervous. But maybe she’s anticipating a lot. Like counting the days until the next full moon and wondering how in the hell she’s to maintain normalcy between them ever again.

She realizes he’s staring at her in the mirror. Examining her in that thoughtful way that narrows his eyes just so.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

She blinks in surprise, turns her head to look at him instead of his reflection. He continues to stare straight up. Hope tries to keep her heart calm but it hammers away. She forgets about the mirror, forgets he can see her squeeze her eyes shut and the struggle with her response.

“Sweetheart…” He says it like he’s consoling her. Says it like he’s upset. 

Her eyes pop open and she whispers an apology, scooting closer so that her forehead presses to his arm. She breathes in his skin. Closes her eyes. Tries not to think about the way he looked up at her from between her legs, mouth swollen like a wet plum.

He exhales long and slow. Says gently, “there’s nothing to be sorry for. I...just want to make sure you feel better after…”, he trails off. Swallows and continues, “not worse.”

She brings her hand to splay atop him. Feels the thump of his heart in the dip between ribs. “I’m worried you’re not feeling what I’m feeling.” The thumping grows heavier.

“It's not about that. This is for you.”

She pushes up. A twinge of something unpleasant creeps in. Almost like she’s hurt. The mirror probably reveals that all over her face. He glances away from the reflection and into her eyes.

“I told you we should separate if you’re not okay with this…” She tries and fails to keep the waver from her voice. 

“Hope…”

That’s all he can say? 

His eyes dart back and forth, lips parted and frozen. Did he not feel the burn of the full moon? Did he not love the way their bodies warm and hum when close? Was this all in her grief stricken delusional wolf enhanced mind? 

Was the way he touched and tasted and unfolded her like a flower last night just a way to put a bandaid on a booboo -kiss it and make it better; brush it off and bury it with the dead?

Her words tumble out thin and strained. Like a guitar string wound too tight. Plucked and snapped. “Does it make you feel better to pretend you’re just the hero doing his duty?”

“Don’t say that. I’ve upset you, I’m sorry.. I-“

But now she can’t stop. All this tiptoeing around and pretending like it all isn’t about him too. “Are you disgusted by me? Some sick twisted little girl who has daddy fantasies?”

“For god's sakes, no!”

“I didn’t forget what you said with all that rum on your breath. You want to fuck me and take what my boyfriend was too scared to.” Her words surprise her. She wishes she hadn’t said them. Clamps her mouth shut and looks into his stricken eyes.

He growls and his hand flies to her neck. It’s not crushing, but it’s tight enough to still her. To shock her. He’s something between horrified and livid. She’s finally poked the monster. She finally knows where that line between Klaus Mikaelson the famed horror-show and her loving gentle king of a father rests. 

“I will never  _ take  _ anything from you.” His voice makes her shiver. It’s ice; steel and bone. 

She swallows, has a hard time doing so. It sounds choked and a whimper gives her away. She’s genuinely frightened. 

“Are we clear?” His accent, usually so warm, coats the words like creeping vines, woven in deceitfully delicate thorns. 

She nods, tears leaking from her eyes. He releases her and for a moment she hates him. She gulps air and stares into his cold and unfamiliar eyes and  _ hates _ him. He’s a liar and can’t stand to be called out. He’s everything her family warned and whispered about and tried to keep away from her delusional starry little girl eyes. He’s the mad king of New Orleans. The sociopath with his own daddy issues. And she loves him. No more, no less. He is hers.

Maneuvering off of the ridiculous bed, she stalks to the doorway and folds her arms. “Next full moon, you’re going to apologize for this.” 

His gaze falters. He croaks, “I’m already sorry.” He reaches for her. She turns and stalks away.

[ k l a u s ]

Hayley infiltrates his thoughts. Like mother, like daughter. They knew how to push him there. They knew the right words and could  _ see _ him. It’s why he could never let himself go there with Hayley. It’s why he put up a wall and let Elijah sweep her off of her feet while his child grew inside of her swelling belly. 

He thinks about the anger that consumed him...the way his demons nodded in satisfaction as he squeezed the air from Hayley’s wriggling body. It’s hard to be seen. Truly seen. Especially when you’re hiding so much from yourself. It’s a connection even if not an enjoyable one, and one he’d always had with Hayley. Their daughter was every bit of her. And just as beautifully bold. 

He’s sitting on the dock with a wine bottle grasped by the neck between his legs. Hope found a bathing suit in one of the bedrooms. It’s slightly too small, her breasts spilling around the seams. He doesn’t blink when she pulls herself from the water and splashes footsteps on the wooden planks. She approaches and takes the bottle from his hand, drinks several gulps. A stream of deep purple escapes down her chin, runs over her neck, mixes with lake water and bleeds into the white fabric of her bikini top. 

“How’s the water?” 

She looks at him, eyes softer now that they’ve been indulging in wine. Shrugging, she takes another gulp and then thrusts it back into his hand.

“It’s cold. Probably should have done this sooner when it was summer.”

“I’m sorry it took us this long to come out here.”

He’s been apologizing for everything since hurting her on the bed. She’s been pretending she’s not hurt. But he knows. And he knows there are things he needs to say. Like her mother, she sees him. It’s not as if she doesn’t already know. She just needs to hear it. He understands that. 

As evening dims the sky, they sit inside the screened-in porch. There’s a cushioned loveseat surrounded by potted plants that sit dead and littering the floor with shriveled leaves. A cool breeze disturbs the coiled baby hairs that frame her face. She’s laying with her legs tossed over his lap, still in her bathing suit and still avoiding most eye contact.

He wants to take it all back. The reaction. The anger. His words. He wants to apologize in the way that she needs. Lips to her throat, hands tangled in her hair, bodies flush; one heartbeat.  _ I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry… _

He knows he’ll do anything for her, knows it’s coming, knows she’ll untie his tightly laced excuses with the pluck of a polished ruby fingernail. Knows she’ll hold a mirror up and force him to see what she sees. But if he lets it all in then it has to come back out. There won’t be an innocence to their days and nights. There won’t be memories of her childhood he’d be able to conjure without self loathing tears. He isn’t ready to lose that. Doesn’t trust himself to keep it all in neat separate boxes. The full moon will turn into every moon because his needs only ever grow. Like an addiction, the more it’s fed the more it wants and nothing is ever enough. If it’s for her, just for her. He can keep them afloat. 

“Where’d ya go?” She brings a foot up to poke her toe under his chin.

He grabs her foot and cradles it, brushes a kiss beneath her ankle. “Not far”.

She hums and sits up to reach over him for the wine. It’s their third. They are but small bottles. He gathers her damp hair, winds it around his hand and breathes it in. Lake water, shampoo, and her. 

“Come here,” he sighs into the tangled curls. Pulls her into his lap, crushing the bottle between them. 

This time it’s she who apologizes. Nuzzles into his neck and scrapes her nails along the scruff of his jaw. “I shouldn’t have said that”.

He wraps his arms around her, sways them like a pendulum. It’s how he used to lull her to sleep when she was a little thing crying for her mother. Elijah would hover and grimace, angry and disappointed at the punishment Klaus bestowed on Hayley. He had convinced himself it was not a punishment for his toddling daughter as well. But it had been. He caused the tears and he had kissed them better.

“I feel it too. The moon. The draw..” he admits. 

Her fingers curl behind his ear. “I know.”

His body warms around her. Even with the cusp of Autumn chilling the air, they create a rolling heat that buzzes and stings like cold toes thrust in hot bathwater. Two electric wires sparking every time they connect. 

He whispers against her temple that they need to sleep.

They stumble into bed, the mattress bobbing them towards the middle. She rolls to her stomach, laying her cheek on a folded arm. He sprawls on his back, looks at her reflection in the hovering mirror. He lets himself look, really look. She’s everything. Beautifully made and thrumming with youth. A vampire’s dream, for their blood is the sweetest. 

Sleepily she slurs against her arm, “can you untie my bathing suit top. It’s hurting.”

He reaches over and tugs the strings. She hums her thanks and lifts up just enough so that he can pull it out from under her and toss it aside. He traces her spine with his fingers, pushes and kneads at the taut muscles between shoulder blades. She practically purrs. 

“Hey dad?”

“Yes, sweetheart.” 

She pauses, moves under his touch and rolls to her back. His hand glides with her and rests just beneath her breasts. He shakes his head, not sure how long he can grasp on to what they were before. Not with how easy she makes it to adore her just like this. Not an inch of her hidden.

He’d give her anything. Do anything to make sure she never looks at him again as she had when his fingers wrapped around her neck. But he’s still a wolf. A vampire. Possessive and hungry. Insatiable and broken in ways even centuries could not mend. 

“Did you like it?”

He knows she means last night. He can still taste her... can still hear her. He nods slowly, tracing a line from her navel to the top of the bikini bottom. 

Hope licks her wine-stained lips and watches his fingers skate along her skin. “I didn’t mean to imply you’d just...take it from me.”

He blinks slow. Stills his fingers. “Be patient with me, baby.” 

She looks at him under lashes and a small smile. Nods and rolls back over. He settles and watches her reflection fade into sleep.

  
  
  


[ h o p e ]

Maybe it was the wine after an emotionally exhausting day or maybe it was the gentle motion of the waterbed, but Hope sleeps well into the morning. The sun settles high in the sky, basking the room in warm buttery light. She blinks up at her reflection. Face red with sheet creases and her bare breasts spilling to the sides. She touches the bundle of sheets next to her, finding them cold.

She stretches and lets out an obnoxious yawn, rubs at her face and sits up. Her hair gathers in wild waves over her breasts and she awkwardly fights the mattress’s waves to get out of bed. The closet is full of men’s shirts, women’s blouses and dresses. Hope picks out a simple sundress. It reaches mid-thigh and hangs loosely over her curves. 

He’s rummaging in a closet down the hall. It looks like an office or craft room maybe. 

“Find anything good?”

He pops his head out and smiles up at her. “Yes, actually.” He pulls out a guitar and she gasps in delight. Reaches for it with wiggling fingers.

“Do you play?” He asks, stands up, clicks the closet door shut. Then, “that dress is lovely on you.”

She smiles, feeling shy under the compliment and his trailing eyes. “Landon taught me a bit and I took lessons on Jackson’s guitar when I was younger.”

They end up on the back screened-in porch. He brings her coffee and scrambled eggs made from the powdered stuff. She sets the guitar down and eats quickly, listening to him play much better than she.

“You’re good,” she smiles. “Thank god because I should definitely not be humanity’s best living guitar player.”

He chuckles. “Elijah was much better at music than I. But I’ve had quite some time to learn and play. I shall teach you if you’d like, but I’ve always played by ear.”

“I’m better that way too.”

They sit through the afternoon strumming away and singing off-key, neither of them especially vocally inclined. They joke about Hayley’s singing and talk about their favorite musicians. The air is perfect and she’s happy when the storms roll in. When it stormed, they stayed longer in town to avoid walking forever in a downpour. This place feels right.

Hope stretches out on the couch, lays her head in his lap. She stares up at him and says, “I think this house is better than Bunny and Steve’s.” 

“I’d have to agree. Perhaps this will be our every once in a while home.”

She thinks about the waterbed and the way they can spend hours on this porch getting lost in one another’s company. She says tentatively, “maybe it could be our full moon weekend vacation spot. Keep the cabin as our home and this for that.”

He glances down, a sly smile twitching at his lips. “You want to try out that waterbed, don’t you…”

She laughs. Then peers up at him, fingers toying with his belt loop. “Maybe.”

He shakes his head. “Such a flirt”

“Nope, I don’t even know how,” she smiles with a shrug.

He tucks a strand of her hair behind her ear, hint of a chuckle in his exhale. “Oh, you do.”

Her stomach dips at the way he gazes down at her. She wonders what he feels when he looks at her like that. It’s not like she can just ask him. Not unless she wants to poke a little more at the monster. 

“I’d like to apologize to you for what happened before. There’s no excuse for treating you as I did.”

“Like I said, you’ll apologize on the full moon.” She offers a sweet smile, but her gut twists anxiously, not sure if she’s pushing any buttons. Not sure if she cares.

He runs his knuckles along her jaw. She shivers. “I’m apologizing now.”

She opens her mouth, ready to challenge him. But he moves out from under her, swift and effortless. She blinks in surprise. He’s hovering atop her. She barely moves as his hands slide under her neck and back, forgets to breathe. 

He lowers his lips to hers. One small kiss. It’s damp. Lightning dances over the lake, lights up his face.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. His breath, sweetened with wine, brushes warmly over her skin.

He’s kissing her and she’s frozen. 

His tongue swipes slow and teasing. “I’m sorry,” he trails along her lower lip. She can’t believe he’s kissing her like this. A shiver runs down her spine and heat crawls up her neck. She feels him smiling. He asks against her parted lips, “are you alright?” Oh he knows she is. 

She kisses back, heart racing, fingers in his hair. Pulls him down so he collapses against her body. He’s hard, pressed between her legs. Their lips smack apart and he breathes against her cheek and tries to pull away. She wraps her legs around him, murmurs, “nuh, uh.”

“You drive me mad, little girl,” he admits near her ear. 

She closes her eyes, knowing he’ll pull away soon. He’ll keep it from going further because he’s afraid of this. He’s afraid of himself. He’s afraid loving her body and his together will mean his father was right about him. 

“I love everything about you,” she assures with nails lightly scratching a path down his back.

He goes slack, his weight pushing her into the couch. It’s comforting. She holds him there, soothing with her fingers, matching her breaths with his. The rain sounds like magic out here. It hits the lake and sodden earth, roaring, sounding like a waterfall. Thunder puts him to sleep. She doesn’t wake him, just gently shifts so that his weight sinks to her side and she can drape her arm and leg protectively over his body.

  
  


[ k l a u s ]

He leads her into the garage. She rubs her eyes sleepily, yawning and leaning against his arm. 

“A car…” she says slowly. 

“A car that could  _ work _ ,” he corrects. 

She peers at him as if he’s gone mad. “But the EMP left everything useless,” she reminds with raised brows.

“This is a Beetle from the early seventies. No computers. It should work…” His mind flies through the possibilities. They could travel further. Other towns when the supplies here dwindled. And they would. Time goes on and on and eventually there won’t be much left to rummage through. He doesn’t want to say it yet, but they’d need somewhere better to live. A wider plot of land for food and a larger source of water than the creek near their cabin. That could dry up. They’d be left with the lake but no crops. A self sustainable farm is what they need. There were plenty out there waiting to be found.

“But what about gas? Eventually we’d run out. Or we’d get stuck somewhere trying to find more.”

“If anything, it could be fun.”

She smiles. “That’s true. Is it a stickshift?” She steps over a pile of discarded tools and old magazines to get a better look. She peers inside and answers herself, “yep…”

“Do you know how to drive a stick?”

The door creaks open and a smell of old leather and deterioration seeps out. “Not really, but I’ve watched others drive them before.” She slides into the driver’s side, fiddles with the knobs and dials.

“I shall teach you.”

“First we need to find the keys,” she reminds, running her fingers over the visors and prying open the glove compartment. 

He holds them out. They jingle between forefinger and thumb. She smiles.

  
  
They get it running after adding fuel from a canister sitting nearby and crossing their fingers. Luck, pure luck, that it had no issues preventing it from firing up. He’s surprised to learn just how much his daughter knows about cars. Another stab of jealousy when she tells him, “Declan taught me how to change a tire once when we got a flat.”

She learns quickly, even though the clutch sticks between gears. “Maybe we could find an auto shop and get some parts,” she suggests, turning on the blinker at a stop sign.

He laughs.

“What’s so funny?”

“Nothing. You’re a very responsible driver.” 

She shakes her head. Smiles, and murmurs, “oh yeah, I guess blinkers and stop signs are kind of useless now.”

They drive through town, windows down and a calmness between them. It’s nice doing something familiar and normal. It’s nice seeing her smile like this again. He rests a hand on her shoulder and gives a gentle squeeze. 

She drives them into a neighborhood they hadn’t been to yet, it was furthest from the center of town. Medium income, modest ranch style homes. They park in a cul de sac and she turns off the car.

Hope drums her fingers on the steering wheel and peers over him out the window. “Want to look through a few homes before we head back? Maybe we can find another guitar and form a band.” 

He nods in agreement and follows her into the house closest to their orange Beetle that she’d named  _ Lucille _ . Hope sets the bookbag full of water and snacks down that she brought with her in case they got stranded somewhere. They go through the kitchen first, pulling cans from the shelves and more candles from a drawer. 

“I’ve been thinking,” Hope says cautiously, turning to lean against the countertop. He stacks another row of canned beans, glancing up at her. She crosses her arms and stares down, “maybe I’ve been a bit selfish with rushing you into this full moon thing.”

Klaus tilts his head, purses his lips in question. She adds softly, “what are we even doing. There’s no future here. It’s just surviving. Why don’t we…” Her eyes close and she pushes off the counter. Takes his hands in hers. She’s cold and damp with nervous sweat. “Why don’t we just end it now. Before it goes further. We could go be with our family.”

She stoops down and unzips her bookbag. Pulls out the white oak stake. She must have found it hidden in his things. It still has Kol’s blood coating the tip.

He feels as though he’s been punched in the gut. The word forces out of him, “ _ no _ !”

“Why?” She holds it against her. A tear falls.

He swipes the stake away, it clanks to the floor. He cradles her face. “Because there is so much life in you left to live. Places you’ve never been; laughter, happiness.” He shakes his head, lips trembling. “I brought you into this world...it’s my responsibility as your father to make sure you live a good and  _ full _ life.” 

“I don’t want to live a life where my happiness means your suffering. Not when we can go be at peace with everyone that we love.”

He pulls her into him. Holds her tight, probably too tight. “No, sweetheart.” He doesn’t know what else to say. She’s not wrong. He’s been suffering but it’s not because of her or even the full moon. 

Her voice breaks. “What are you afraid of?”

“Myself.”

Kneeling, he picks up the white oak stake, tucks it into his back pocket. He holds out his hand for her. She slips her small palm into his and follows him to the car. He drives this time, ignores her stare the entire way back to the lake house. 


	10. Chapter 10

[ h o p e ]

The cabin feels so much smaller now. Klaus is withdrawn, spends his time hunting and prepping for winter. He comes to bed late. She pretends to be asleep while he gently drapes an arm around her. He at least still wants her close. 

She knows she upset him. It’s hard figuring out how much or even why. She thought she was giving him an out. She thought it was a real option. One he might take if he knew it’s something she would want too. 

When his breathing turns deep and rhythmic, Hope slips out from under his arm and walks to the window. Props her elbows on the sill and peers at the moon. It’s huge and lights up the whole garden. Tomorrow it will be full. She turns and finds his eyes open.

He whispers, “what are you looking at?”

She folds her arms. It’s coldest in the bedroom. Shrugs and whispers back, “the moon.”

He looks pale. Dark circles under his eyes and a coldness to his skin. She hasn’t pushed him to feed, like she always has -doesn’t know why. Maybe she wants him to ask. Maybe she needs him to do  _ something _ for his own needs rather than leaving her to feel like she’s the only one who deserves a full and happy life here. 

“Come here. It’s too cold without you.” 

She bites her lip and trudges back to bed. Once settled alongside him, he finds her hand under the covers. Grasps it.

He rasps, “I love you.”

She stares. Wonders why she feels so numb since leaving the lake house. 

He brings her knuckles to his mouth. Kisses them with cold lips. “I’ve never had a sexual or romantic partner that I love like I love you. Not even close. I’m afraid of ruining the only pure and true thing this life has ever gifted me.”

“You can’t ruin this,” she assures, gripping his hand and searching his eyes under furrowed brows. 

“I always seem to do horrible things to the ones that I love. You were ready to die weeks ago.”

“I didn’t mean to upset you. I miss our family. I miss having a future.”

“We have a future together, if that’s still what you want. No more hiding. No more rules.”

“You mean it?”

“But there’s no rush, love. We have a very long time here.”

They settle back under the quilt. Hope faces the moon and brushes her hair from her neck. They don’t need to speak about certain things. He drinks from her, long and slow draws. She moves against him, letting the warmth and lulling effect of his feed take over. 

She doesn’t hold back what it makes her feel this time. The soft moans escaping her parted lips oddly turn her on more. She smiles at this.

He unlatches. Asks with her blood dripping from his mouth, “what are you smiling about over there?”

She shrugs and shivers as he cleans her wound with his tongue. He’s throbbing against her lower back. This time he stays there. Just like that. 

[ k l a u s ]

She whispers his name, he jolts awake. The mattress presses and creaks beneath her weight. Long tendrils of hair, warm from the sun, skate across his bare, cold chest.

Klaus’s lids creep open, letting in sharp daylight and the sight of his daughter’s large eyes. His palm rests at her cheek. 

“Are you alright?”

She drops a kiss to his nose. “Made some breakfast. Come on, I wanted to get to the lake house before noon.”

He sits up groggily, watches her stand in front of the tall mirror propped near the door. She’s in black leggings and a pale lavender thermal shirt. Her hair is in a long pony tail, tendrils pulled to frame her face. She’s adorable. 

There’s a bounce to her step as they sip coffee and she packs their bags. He makes sure the white oak stake is hidden well. No more suicide pacts if she decides engaging in sexual activities with her father is less than desirable in the future. Which is possible. He looks at her and still can’t believe she looks back at him in the ways that she does. 

  
  


The lake house is just as they left it. Hope darts upstairs to put their things in the bedroom. Klaus grabs the flask he brought from the cabin. Swishes the bourbon in his mouth and swallows with a satiated sigh. 

He steps outside onto the porch. It’s chilly even as the sun sparkles against the lake. The loveseat bounces as he flops into it, brings the guitar against him and strums a few chords. 

Hope returns with a blanket. She cuddles up beside him and leans her head on his shoulder. 

He nudges her. “You look like a burrito.”

“Keep playing.”

So he plays her the longest song he knows, only butchering it a little. The last notes vibrate and fade. She hums in appreciation, “that was beautiful.”

“I wrote it.”

She laughs. “That was John Lennon.”

He grins. 

Hope grabs the guitar and lays it down gently to the floor. She straddles him, bringing the blanket with her. They’re wrapped up together, protected from the chilled breeze coming off the lake. He knows the full moon is tonight, feels it stirring his senses. Every time she touches him...and she’s touching him a lot. A kiss to the cheek, hand on his arm, nose buried in the crook of his neck.

These things might have bothered him from other women in his past. But then, he didn’t love any of them...not like this. And the ones he did love, he rarely found the universe kind enough to give him much time with. 

He smoothes her hair back from her face, let’s her readjust on his lap to look down at him. “We should collect firewood from next to their shed. I noticed a pile under a tarp.”

She nods and slides off. Pulls on her boots and he hears the leaves crunch under her steps as they make their way across the side yard. They make two trips, piling arm loads next to the fireplace inside. She gets a fire going while he pulls pine straw and bark from their sweaters. 

He makes her dinner that night, after hours spent tangled on the couch with books in their hands. He’s grateful she’s the introverted type. Quiet, and finds the same joys in reading and art. Hayley could rarely sit still and always had to fill the silence with a question or a thought. A typical wolf girl. He glances at Hope as he stirs her soup. They are not typical wolves. 

The moon sits mid sky as the sun bows out for the evening, casting deep pastel color across the wind-rippled water. They’d paint it if other things weren’t on their minds. 

If this were a vacation retreat in another time, with another woman, he’d already be plying her with wine and flirtations. He’d use his charm that both annoyed and enamored. But he likes to think even the annoyance was enamoring. 

She drinks more wine than he. He thinks she’s nervous. He’s oddly calm. Seeing her for the first time in a way. Accepting that this is the last love of his life, and she’s going to unfold as something more than the child he had a hand in guiding into adolescence and now into the young woman who is staring at him. Waiting.

“What is it your heart desires, my dearest?” 

She smiles. Bites her lip in that way he adores. “Just you.”

He hides a smile, rubs at his scruffed chin. She stands and places her glass of wine on the mantel. He watches her from the couch saunter to the tall glass windows overlooking the front yard. Even in her ponytail, the waves of honey and copper trail to her lower back. Her toned legs look exquisite in the thin black leggings. He imagines peeling them off.

She turns, beckons with a finger. 

He pushes off the couch, shuffles forward, takes in the rosy flush to her skin and the mauve swell of her lips. She’s just lovely. In all the ways. 

He stops close, feels the warmth hum between their bodies. She traces his lips with the pad of her thumb, looks at him like he’s much more than he is. 

“Touch me,” she urges in a shaky whisper. 

His heart thumps and breaths deepen. He reaches for her hair tie. Tugs it gently, her hair tumbles free. It smells like the wind, salty with sweat. He backs her up with shuffling steps. Holds her to the glass. 

Her large eyes meet his. “You owe me something.”

He runs his fingers down her neck, trails along the jut of her delicate collarbone. He hums in question, busies himself with pushing the sleeve of her sweater down her shoulder. Places a kiss on the mole that they share there.

“No holding back. I want to know what this does to you.”

He kisses the hollow of her throat. Her breath hitches. She pushes her pelvis forward. He can feel the heat from her there through his jeans.

He curses. Thrusts his fingers down the front of her leggings. She’s so wet he slips deep between her folds. He wants to rip the thin fabric off, tear them down the middle. But they are her favorite. And his.

Her head thuds against the glass. Eyes hooded and after a single breathy moan, she reminds, “I want to know what this does to you.”

“You feel incredible.”

“Yeah? What else.”

His fingers move and cup and press. He tries to kiss her but she grabs his chin, forcing eye contact.

He pauses and it’s like they’re both falling into the same hole. Same blue rimmed pupils dilated with bottomless need. It’s terrifying.

“I want to feel your insides,” he exhales. Flinches at the crude admission. He’s falling now, nothing to grab onto. Thoughts become words and she lets them cascade around her. The kind of girl who stands in the rain. “I want to know what your mouth feels like.” He pushes his middle finger to the knuckle; fills her. She sucks in air, but her eyes never falter. “I want to fill you up, little girl.”

Her lips twitch into a smile. She releases his chin to caress his cheek. “There you are…” she croons. As if she knew he was hiding all along. 

He hangs his head. Lifts his eyes. “You really do have a little of the devil in you, don’t you…”

“Mmhm…”, she hums and moans at the same time. “Can we…” she bites her lip and drops her fingers to the button of his jeans. 

“Not this time. Not like this.”

Her eyes sharpen. “Dad…”

He shushes her with a second finger, slipping inside and moving at a sensuous speed. “I want you to let go. Just like this.”

Her cheeks flush and she drops her forehead to his shoulder. Grasps his arms with tight fingers. He feels it all; the velvety skin, every pulse and tightening twitch as she nears release. He brings her there with his tongue in her ear.

[ h o p e ]

She watches from the bed. He’s still hard but ignores it. Pins it down with his boxers and jostles the water mattress as he burrows under the covers.

“It’s a little unfair.”

“What’s that?”, he yawns, rolling to his back.

“You won’t let me touch you too.”

He groans. Pinches the bridge of his nose. “Sleep, girl,” he barks. But there’s a grin on his lips.

“If you won’t let me touch you. Could I at least watch you touch yourself?”

He shakes with laughter. “You’re insatiable. You’re entirely mine.”

She smiles up at his reflection in the mirror. Knows she’s annoying him, but she’s always suspected he enjoys it...finds it endearing. 

“Let me see it. I’ll only look in the mirror, I swear.”

“You’re insane.” But he sighs and pushes the covers down, just enough. With a pause, he pulls himself free of his boxers, lets it stand and pulse over the tuft of dark golden hair.

Hope sucks in her lower lip. She wants to tell him what else to do. She wants to see what he looks like when he lets go. Wants to smell his release as it leaks and pools on his belly. 

He puts it back and she opens her mouth in protest. “I can only imagine what filthy thoughts are going through your mind right now…”, he shakes his head. 

“I could tell you…”

He throws an arm over his eyes. Drones lazily, “sleep. We have years and years of this indulgence ahead. But only a small window of time to prepare for winter. Lots of work tomorrow, love.”

She rolls over, tucks her hands beneath her cheek. Smiles at just how satisfying the future feels to her now.


	11. Chapter 11

[ k l a u s ]

They worked hard into the afternoon, searching home after home for supplies to take back to the cabin. She’s exhausted and sullen after finding all of the reminders that people didn’t just vanish after the virus and emp. They suffered. Klaus had ushered her out of one home, the smell so faint now; tried to shield her from it. But she saw the little crib. 

He pulls Lucille up in front of a building near the fire station. They couldn’t get to this street before, but he’d worked hard at clearing a path while she napped.

“Oh my gosh.  _ Yes _ !”

He takes her hand, kisses her knuckles. Says against her skin, “you were right. The library was off of the blocked road.”

She tears out of the car, excitedly dragging him behind her. He’s about to kick the door in, but she reaches forward and pulls it open. She grins over her shoulder.

Hope takes off towards the rows of fiction. He calls after her, “remember we can come back. Whatever you choose has to fit in your lap on the drive home…”

“Yes,  _ daddy _ ,” she teases.

It’s dim and hard to read the titles lining the spines of dusty books without using his hybrid senses. He picks out a few classics and stacks them with her growing pile at the check out desk. There’s a vending machine in the employee area that he pries open. She won’t eat the chips, but never turns down candy. He finds more tampons stuffed in a drawer and pockets them. She’s always so excited when they find those. 

Hope pops her head in, “I found some books about growing food and survivalist type stuff. Want to get anything else?”

He shakes his head and follows her to the large pile of books. Gives her a pointed look.

“Thin the herd, my love.”

“They’ll fit!”

He chuckles and picks up a stack. He nods towards the door. “Go ahead then. Buckle in and I’ll pack them around you.”

He’s not surprised when she, pressed under a pile of heavy books, reluctantly agrees that they’ll have to return another time for the rest. 

It drizzles on the way up to the cabin. They park Lucille as far as the overgrown path allowed, realizing they’d have to carry the supplies further than anticipated.

“We are going to sleep so good tonight,” Hope sighs, adjusting her grip on the crate of canned food.

They make several trips before Lucille is empty and their cabin is cluttered with food, clothes, books, and tools. He stoops down and starts to organize the cans by date for their stockpile in the cellar. Hope comes up behind him and drapes her arms over his shoulders. 

“Let’s tackle this tomorrow. I’m hungry and tired.”

“Yes, of course. Sorry,” he mumbles, patting her dangling hands. He does this a lot: becomes hyper-focused on an objective and won’t remember to stop until it’s complete. She’s constantly reminding him of her human limitations. He hates that she has to and wonders how often she pretends to be doing better than she really is for his sake. 

He stands and turns, settles his hands at her hips. “Get something to eat. I’ll prepare water for a bath.”

She yawns and nods. 

[ h o p e ]

She wakes before him. He’s tangled in their sheets from the waist down, face smooshed into his arm, drool glistening. She grins and fights the knee-jerk reaction to find her cell phone to snap a picture. Even now, she has trouble remembering that memories have to be caught and truly reveled in. No snapshots to gaze at when memories become blurred with time. No taking moments for granted.

After a steaming mug of bitter coffee, she clears and wipes down the dusty built in bookshelf. She places the library books in alphabetical order and uses the heavy pine wolves that Klaus had whittled as bookends. She fills the pantry with some of the cans, leaving the rest to store in the cellar. The winter jackets, gloves, and hats, she hangs on the coat rack that stands in the corner. She props the guitar near the fireplace, smiling at it. Having music again is pure heaven. 

Hope drags the last crate to the rug and sits on her knees to go through it. It’s just odds and ends. Matches, hand tools, half used notebooks, pens and pencils, candles, toothpaste, soap, and a deck of playing cards. 

She’s putting the matches with the others when she hears him. Klaus shuffles in barefoot and runs a hand through his disheveled hair. He yawns and settles his hooded eyes on hers.

“Morning sleepy head.”

He surveys the room. He’s shirtless, jeans hanging low on his hips, unbuttoned and loose. He scratches idly at a spot near his ribs.

“Mornin’ busy bee.” He accepts a cup of coffee from her outstretched hand. “Looks marvelous in here.” He takes a sip and grimaces.

“Tastes like shit right? But I can’t seem to throw it out knowing it’s all we have until we find more.”

“Finding more coffee has been placed as top priority for our next mission,” he agrees, setting down the mug. 

Hope grins and returns her attention back to the remaining items waiting to be put away. He gets a fire going and settles into the couch. It’s a chilly morning and even with everything shut up tight, there’s a drafty coolness to the cabin. 

“What’s the date?”

“October seventh.”

Hope thinks of pumpkins and crunchy leaves and handing out candy to little ghosts and witches with mom and Aunt Freya. She thinks of spiced cider and Raf’s hand up her shirt at the costume party. Caroline using baby oil to get all the face paint off of Lizzie’s face after she decided to be a mermaid instead of a zombie. Jack O'Lanterns glowing in windows and reading books on the porch wrapped up in a fleece scarf.

“Are you crying?”

She blinks towards his voice, realizing everything is blurred. 

“I love October,” she croaks. Then laughs because the tears start pouring.

He must have flashed over. His arms engulf her and she buries her face into his skin. Breathes him in and grips his sides. He smooths her hair and gently pulls her back to peer down at her. 

She licks the salt from her lips and says, “I’m about to start my period I think.”

“You were supposed to start yesterday,” he confirms.

Hope laughs and slowly parts from the embrace. “You really do keep track of everything, don’t you…”

He reaches for her hand and tugs her to the couch. She lets him pull her over onto his lap. She extends her legs over the cushions and lays her head against his thigh like a pillow. 

“Do you want to talk about it?”

She shakes her head. Reaches over to trace the hair below his navel. “Just missing the past again. Mom and friends. Traditions.” He’s quiet. She stares at the thump of his heartbeat under his skin. Adds, “but we will make new ones. Together.”

“Could you tell me about them?”

She clears her throat, lays her palm flat over his belly. She tells him everything she can remember. How Grandma Mary made her go trick or treating even though Hope didn't like the concept of dressing up and asking for candy. The first time she kissed a girl during spin the bottle at the school’s costume party. Carving pumpkins with her mom and oversalting the roasted seeds. The lines at the bookstore for free cinnamon buns with the purchase of their fall lattes. 

She laughs at her tears bubbling again. “All this time I thought I was okay. I thought I wouldn’t miss little things, just the big things.”

He lets her cry, brushes the tears with his knuckles. When the sniffles subside, she pushes herself up. Chuckles again at her show of emotion, and gets up to pick out a book. She grabs a can of mixed fruit, the kind where the cherries taste like the peaches and so do the pears. She grabs him a book too. 

They’re on opposite ends of the couch reading in silence. Hope stretches her legs down the length of the sun-faded fabric, toes pushing into his jeans. He turns a page, she idly runs her pinky toe in little circles against his thigh. She sips on the fruit juice from the can. He looks over, drops a warm hand to her foot.

“Careful, you’ll cut yourself on that.”

She shrugs, “it’ll only hurt for a second.”

In the back of her mind, even as she dives into another chapter of a rather good book, it feels like there are too many things to do to be lounging around reading on the couch. But it’s so nice. So very nice. The crackling fire warming the room, the smell of coffee in the air -even if it does taste horrible, the look on his face as his eyes trail over words and he mouths certain sentences to himself…

He glances over. “Why are you staring at me, girl?”

“You’re pretty.”

He grins and shakes his head. Pats her foot and closes his book one-handed. Her gaze drifts around the room. The laundry pile is overgrown. Dishes line the countertop ready to be put back away after drying. It’s the way she was raised. Hayley never sat still for long. There was always work to be done and if there wasn’t, she’d find some for Hope to help with. Grandma Mary always commented that it was a cover for anxiety.  _ Over-workers are over-worriers,  _ she’d say.

Hope chews on her lower lip. Was she worried about something? Her mind drifts to the little bundle in the crib. Then to her underproducing garden. Then to the way her father still can’t quite relax and let her in after something intimate happens.

As if reading her mind, he says gently, “we can get back to our routine tomorrow. Today is for transitioning.”

She repeats the word. Shrugs and whispers, “okay.”

[ k l a u s ]

He hovers at the front porch. She’d been gone for a while, it’s raining now. She’ll be cold. The night is black under the thick storm clouds. There’s no thunder, no lightning to expose the woods.

“Hope?” he calls out. She’d wanted to take a walk. Clear her mind. He didn’t stop her, she’s always preferred the night for such things.

He hears her before he sees her. She’s sopping wet but smiling. He opens the door and ushers her in. 

“Get out of those clothes, it’s too cold,” he grumbles. Her teeth chatter and fingers quake so he helps peel the shirt over her head and unbutton her pants. He kneels to untie her boots and pull them free, steadying her as she switches feet. He nods at her underwear. “Those too. I’ll hang everything over the tub.”

She turns so that he can unhook her bra as she shimmies out of her panties and darts towards the fire. He can hear her teeth chattering all the way in the bathroom as he hangs her wet clothes. He notices the tinge of pink in her panties. 

He returns and tosses a tampon at her. She catches it with ease and starts to unwrap. He turns and busies himself with cleaning their dinner dishes. At least they are as comfortable with one another as a couple could possibly become. No embarrassment around bodies and all the things that they do. 

“These are so good, dad,” she murmurs. He glances up to find her laying on her side in front of the fire, flipping through the sketches he’d worked on while she took her walk. 

His eyes catch the way the fire dances on her skin. It’s the artist in him, his fingers itch to sketch her just like this...stretched out on the furry rug with long wild hair and alabaster skin. The same rosy hue to her nipples and lips. He wants to keep this moment...the imagery and the emotion it evokes. 

He approaches and kneels on the rug. She stares up at him, eyes unblinking and lips curved in a small grin. He takes the sketchbook and plucks the pencil from behind his ear. Turns to a blank page and glances at her expectantly.

“May I draw you?”

“Draw me like one of your French girls,” she says breathy and low. He quirks a brow, leans forward and situates her hair so that it flows with the curve of her side, tendrils curling near her navel, draped like ivy around the jut of her hipbone. She gestures with a hand, “Titanic. You’ve seen Titanic, right?”

“I told you, I abhor historical movies. They rarely get it right and glorify all the wrong things. All the wrong people.”

She snickers and mutters, “snob.” She explains the scene to him but he barely listens. He’s too consumed by getting the lines of her body right as he begins the outline of the sketch.

“Be still, now,” he says, lowering himself to the couch. 

She’s quiet for the majority of the sketch, her eyes the only part of her that move. He notices a flush to her cheeks. Pauses and makes eye contact. She sucks in her bottom lip and blinks away.

Hope admits softly, “I’m not used to being looked at this long.”

“Well…” he shades lightly, smudges around the breasts, “get used to it. I shall draw every inch of you by the time our end comes.”

The fire starts to die down by the time he’s finished. He tears it out and hands it to her as he walks by. He tosses another two logs on, poking them into position. Embers flutter and the wood pops loudly under the licking flames. Her hand finds his back.

“You really see me like this?”

Her lips press just below his ear. He closes his eyes.

“What do you see when you look at it?”, he asks, turning to face her. 

She wraps her arms around his neck. “I see a woman instead of a young girl.”

“The young girl belongs to the father. But you belong to me.” It’s the only way he knows how to explain what this is to him. The ways he’s been able to separate the two undefinable ways that he loves her and is in love with her. He freezes at that. Is he? Just like that.

She kisses him and it sucks the breath from his lungs. His fingers fly to her hair, tangling and tugging. He lets go of the child, holds on to the woman before him. He’s been with many in his life. Seen the most beautiful this world had to offer. He doesn’t tend to compare women, each of them unique and exquisite. But there is something about Hope that stirs everything at once. His wolf, his vampire, the father, the lover, the man he once was before curses and endless loss. She beckons each of them. All of him.

He pulls back as they gasp for air, cradling her face in his hands. Is he merely a narcissist? Entranced because she’s stitched of himself? Yet, he cannot seem to find much of himself in her, not on the surface. The shape of the mouth, yes. The hair and moles and shape of their toes. But that’s not what he feels when he’s with her. Hope has something about her that is only hers. Not his, not Hayley’s. And that is what he’s entranced by when he allows it.

And right now, he’s allowing it. His wolf paces inside, his vampire  _ feels _ her pulse quickening, he wants her. Goddamn it all to hell, he wants her. The only thing left that plagues him is...would he have been so captivated if it weren’t the end of the world? And if he let himself explore that, what would that say of the man inside? Of the father?

“What are you thinking about?” she asks quietly.

“Nothing, love. Just tired.” 

She looks down, wincing and cradling her lower belly.

He presses a finger under her chin, lifts her gaze to his. “Is it painful?”

He remembers Mother doubled over in pain at times when he was a boy, lithe and heavy eyed after drinking a pain potion. He watched Finn rub her lower back late into the night while Father was out; knew what helps.

Hope nods. Croaks, “yeah, it’s bad again. Weird how some months I'm fine. Others…” she shrugs.

He holds his hand out for her, slips into the fatherly role. She leans against him and lets him tug her to bed.

[ h o p e ]

Her skin is covered with chill bumps. It’s not just from the cold. His thumbs knead into her skin. He’s telling her about where he was when he found out about the Titanic. Who his friends were, his lovers, the city he frequented, his social circle. His stories mesmerize her. She’s lucky.

After a while, he lays on his side, only uses one hand to massage the tender muscles near the curve of her bottom. He kisses her chin and the tip of her nose. He’s the sweetest person she’s ever known...doesn’t matter what the history books say about him. Doesn’t matter what the students whispered about him or that she’s seen genuine fear over him in her family’s eyes. That’s not who he is to her. They’re different with each other. 

She’s not secretive with him like she had been with others. She lets him in. Her darkness isn’t something to hide, either. She knows he’ll love all of her. Especially the darkest parts. Even the parts he’s yet to meet...doesn’t even know about.

Hope flips over to her back. His hand slides to the slightly bloated skin between hip bones. She’s still naked, doesn’t even feel awkward about it. She loves that he doesn’t seem to be either. It’s not always sexual, it’s for comfort. With the whole world gone it’s almost as if they are at the beginning of humanity. Adam and Eve. Those hairy cave people, but with less hair. The first explorers. 

She bites her lip and turns her head so that she can look at his expression. “Can I talk to you about something?” 

“You may,” he hums. His fingers feel so warm. So soothing. She twinges between her legs...wishes he could kiss her there again...wishes he could unfold her until she loses her breath.

“I keep thinking about the worst thing I’ve ever done. I keep wondering why I get to live while an innocent baby dies alone in his crib. I can’t stop imagining that one morning i’m going to wake up and find that I tripped and fell into a magic simulator or something. Like none of this is real. It’s just a part of therapy and i’m stuck here until I figure it out.”

He blinks. Looks sad. Touches her cheek with cold fingers. Time to feed again but he never will when she’s on her period -thinks she’s low on blood. 

He says softly, “It’s a traumatic thing we’re going through. And you aren’t alone in your fears or thoughts. I’ve entertained many similar reasons as to why we’re here.”

“I’m glad it’s with you,” she admits. More than anything, she means it. It’s as if she was born with this insatiable love for her father. He’s always been everything. She tentatively adds, “I think a lot about what it’s going to be like...when we…”

He tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, leaves his fingers hovering there. Beneath a small smile, he whispers, “in time.”

  
  


It’s another week before he looks at her like that again. A week of work and frustrated tears followed by biting words. Lately they don’t always get along...they lash out. But under the moon, pressed back to back on the mattress, they are calm because there are other things that stir. There’s something else to focus on.

He flips over, pulls her close. Whispers, “do you forgive me?”

She nods. Of course she does. He wouldn’t believe how deeply she loves him. That’s probably the problem half the time.

“It’s just a bad mood.”

“Yes.” 

It’s also that he hasn’t fed. She won’t bring that up though, no use arguing in the middle of an apology. She sweeps her hair away and offers her neck. His fangs nudge into her skin and she sighs blissfully. His fingers entwine with her own. If she wanted to, she could let go just like this.

The moon burns from the window. “I want to feel you inside of me,” she admits. Her voice sounds far away. Breathy but strong.

He doesn’t respond, just swallows small pulls of her blood, hand warming in her own. She imagines movie scenes where it’s a montage of body parts and slow motion kissing. Undulating music setting the pace for their joined bodies. She knows it won’t be like that. It won’t be perfect or life changing. But it’ll still be beautiful. She smiles and rolls her eyes at herself. Such a dreamy girl way to look at it. But love makes you think like that.

He pulls away, cleans her wound. She shivers when his breath tickles her ear.

“I want you to be sure,” he finally replies. 

She rolls over to stare up at him. He’s so handsome. By far the most handsome Mikaelson brother. She tells him so. His smile hits her everywhere. He kisses her and the feeling only blooms.

Their lips separate in a wet smack. “I’ve been sure,” she reminds, fingers running down his neck.

“Tomorrow,” he states. He kisses her again, short and gentle. Then against her cheek as he scoops her close, “I don’t like giving in to demands. So the full moon can’t have us, yet.”

She laughs and wraps her legs around him. Tangles with him and whispers, “I love everything about you, Niklaus Mikaelson.”

He holds her tighter. Growls deliciously near her ear, “you never make anything easy.”


	12. Chapter 12

[ k l a u s ]

He wakes to an empty house and a note with her loopy scrawl:

_ Took Lucille back to the library for one of the books. You looked too peaceful to wake. Meet me at the lake house?  _

_ Love you. _

Irritation creeps in. He doesn’t want to be controlling with her. Doesn’t want to play that part. He loves her independence. Klaus crumples the letter, tosses it and watches it roll across the floor. A million scenarios creep in as he tugs on his boots. A hungry vampire crosses her path; a band of angry humans looking for a pretty little thing to help pass the time… -he grits his teeth, balls his fists. 

He flashes in vampiric speed most of the way. Cuts a lot of the two hours down to barely one. But he’s exhausted when he arrives; heaves breath and collapses on the couch with an arm tossed over his eyes.

He calls for her, hoping she’s already back -hoping he doesn’t have to go find a squirrel to drain just so he can make it the several miles to the library. He thinks of all the times he’s loved only to lose. He hears Elijah’s voice in a fuzzy memory,  _ that’s the risk of love, Niklaus.  _ Tatia, Camille, and dozens in between. Even Hayley, and she was not his to love or to lose -but he had.

“Hey…” Hope’s voice drifts gently. Then, “oh my god, did you  _ run _ all the way here?”

“Don’t just go off on your own…” he rasps. 

Silence. Then a rustling. He feels warmth on his lips. Tastes her skin. “Drink,” she urges.

He does. The strength returns but it’s slow. Her fingers brush through his hair, lips press to his forehead.

“You killed them all, Dad. We’re alone now.”

But what are the chances of that really? He doesn’t say it. But he is afraid. It’s always a possibility that one moment she’ll be here. The next she’ll be gone. Harmed. Taken. Killed. Every instinct tells him they need to move, never stop moving. But she’s happy here. He’s happy, too. It won’t sustain them forever, but it gives them a moment in time to pause and live life as it’s meant to be lived. Food, music, art...love. The things she deserves. The things he’s had centuries of.

It’s the father in him. He wants to give her better than he’s had -he’s had it all.

She pulls her wrist away and kisses his bloodied lips. Says against them, “silly old man.”

He growls and pulls away, stands and faces the tall windows. She shuffles from behind and wraps her arms around his waist. His first instinct is to lash out; push her away and scream until she  _ gets it _ . He can’t lose her now. Not when he’s admitted to himself, at his very core, that he loves her...that he wants her. That he lives for her in ways he hadn’t as her father alone.

“You’re angry…” she whispers. Her arms tighten. He’s quiet. She forces him with grasping fingers to turn around. “I’m sorry, I thought it’d be okay…”

Her eyes are wide. Searching. Worried.

Words don’t form. They don’t come at all. So he kisses her, tugs at her lower lip with his teeth until she hisses in pain. Picks her up like a child and moves her in a flash. They sink into the waterbed, her eyes wide. He tears off her jeans. Rips her shirt down the middle. She’s motionless.

Her scent fills his flared nostrils. Something tells him to slow down. He slides her panties down and positions her legs over his shoulders...hovers and presses her still with a palm to her belly. He grasps the tampon string between forefinger and thumb. Tugs it free and tosses it aside. 

Her strangled gasp echoes in the still house. He devours her. Laps and licks and sucks. She tastes divine; blood and arousal and something that’s  _ her _ . He sucks harder than he would otherwise -wants to ease the pain, wants to to rid her of every drop. Her sounds barely reach his ears. He’s consumed with her taste.

She shakily asks, “isn’t this gross?” Her thighs tighten and her belly quakes. 

He sweeps his tongue along the length of her. Says against the bundle of nerves that harden between his lips, “this blood is sweeter.”

Her breaths grow louder -turn into moans and then to cries. He takes it all. She comes hard. Hard enough that the blood turns to thin, clear arousal. He nearly lets go inside of his jeans against the rolling mattress.

He drops her legs from his shoulders and captures her quivering lips in his own. She’s lithe, putty in his hands. 

“Are you ready?”, he asks, stroking a knuckle down her neck. He throbs for her. Needs her, all of her. 

She doesn’t answer. Touches his face. Tries to look in his eyes. He has trouble looking back. His heart pounds, roaring in his ears.

“No…” she whispers. Shakes her head. “You’re angry.”

He looks at her. Looks into the navy blue eyes that he gave her in shape and color, large and soul-piercing like her mother’s. Kisses her lips that look like his unless she’s smiling. Nudges his nose along her neck, placing a gentle kiss where her pulse thrums. The father in him wants to stop. The wolf too. The man. But not the vampire; the part of him that’s hard and strained with her blood.

He croons against her ear, makes her shiver. “I’m only a little angry…” 

She pushes him away, mutters as she slides off the bed, “what are you doing?”

He feels a flicker of guilt burn his chest. He doesn’t know why he gets lost in this part of himself. It’s happened with others. Doesn’t realize he’s doing it until it’s too late. He watches her gather her clothes, only to hold them up in realization; they’re torn and unwearable. She throws them down with a huff and turns to dig around in the closet. 

“Hope?” His throat is tight. He sounds strangled.

She steps out, tugging on an oversized shirt. It reaches mid-thigh and hugs tightly around her chest. She doesn’t look at him, crosses her arms and stares out the window.

Finally, she says, “We can’t solve things with blood and sex every time you’re scared and angry.”

He drops his head. She’s smart. Brave and bold. Respectful. All the things he wasn’t for her today.

“You’re right. I’m sorry.”

She looks at him, face softening. Touches her belly and bites her lip. “It feels better. Thanks. I guess the girls at school weren’t lying…”

He raises his brows.

She smiles and continues, “there  _ are  _ monthly perks to having a vampire boyfriend.” Then, shaking her head as if remembering she’s upset, she says, “obviously you’re keeping some concerns to yourself. Do you think there are others still out there?”

He swallows hard. Nods. “It is likely. I don’t want it to be, because whoever is left are the ones the virus couldn’t take. The ones who don’t die when they go hungry, they just go still.”

“Well…” she sucks in a deep breath and exhales slowly, “we are wolves, dad. We can make them go more than still.”

“I don’t want you to have to spend your life running and fighting.”

“You’re Klaus Mikaelson. I think we’ve got this one in the bag.”

He smiles, gut dipping like a free fall at her words. “I appreciate the vote of confidence, love. But even I can be outnumbered. Even your mother has swooped in to save me once or twice.”

“Do you doubt my hero gene?”

He chuckles. Reaches for her. She lets him grasp her hand and bring it to his lips.

Her other hand cups his cheek. She states, “I promise. First sign of trouble and I’ll wolf out and end it before it even begins. No hesitation.”

“It’s harder than you realize, daughter. To look a person in the eye and take their life for no other reason than the mere possibility they could be of a threat to you or your family. Your mother would want you to hesitate.”

“She’s not here...and this isn’t the same world that she left behind.”

  
  


[ h o p e ]

The road whirs beneath them. Lucille whips around another corner. He adjusts the designer sunglasses they found in the bedroom, glancing once her way. He looks good in them, a rugged elegance like James Dean.

She’s worried about him. Stress manifests in different ways for people. They both like to stay busy, neither like the lack of control an apocalypse brings. When he’s scared, he morphs into this person she’s heard about but never met. The kind of person who will go to great lengths to avoid pain and loss, blindly lashing out like a trapped feral cat.

His touch had been rougher than usual. His lips and teeth and fingers pressing and prying. It had felt...really good. But it didn’t feel like him. 

Before leaving the lake house they had a long talk on the dock. They dangled their legs off the edge, squinting at the sparkling water. In the name of openness and honesty, he’d come clean about his fears. They were mostly the same as hers. What happens when the animals don’t frequent the woods near their cabin anymore? What if her garden doesn’t produce enough food? What about gas for Lucille? And if they do run into a group of survivors? Where will they go next and what if there’s nowhere  _ to _ go that offers any more than what they have here? 

They decided to put those concerns to the side. For now. Focus on what they could control. Double down on hunting while rationing canned and jarred fruits and vegetables. Venture to neighboring cities with Lucille in search of more gas and canned foods. They’d be fine for a while. They’d figure out a more permanent plan when they ran out of options here.

Hope rests her hand on his thigh, rubs gently with her thumb. He plucks it up to press a kiss, then returns it to his lap. 

They stop once to put in a little more gas from the canister. Hope squats in the woods and talks to him about the road maps she found in the library. He glances up at the sound of her pee hitting the dead leaves; smirks and shakes his head.

“What? I had to go,” she shrugs. 

  
  
  
The cabin sits still, just as they left it. After dinner, Hope flips through a gardening book, scribbles directions in her notebook for later. Klaus braids her hair while peering over her shoulder; nothing fancy, she thinks he just wants to touch her -he still seems off after getting so angry at his fear. She knows that’s all it was...it wasn’t about her, really. 

Setting the pencil down, she stretches her arms over her head and yawns. He tugs at her braid playfully and drops a kiss to her head, stands up and checks the fire. 

She pulls the maps out and spreads one on the table. “Tomorrow we should go north and hit a town called Loflin.” Her finger traces the route. “Looks like it’s close to the mountains. We should hit it now before the winter weather. Poor Lucille wouldn’t make it.”

He pulls out the other chair to sit and inspect the map. He points to a town over. “Let’s try this one first.”

“Why?”

“I suspect It’s a tourist stop. The local population was likely low, yet supplies are kept stocked for tourist seasons. We’ll find more untouched there.”

Hope nods, circling both towns with her dull pencil. Then, glancing up at him, asks softly, “want to drink some wine and play chess?”

He nods, stands to get the wine bottle while she sets up the chess set. They sit in silence at first, passing the bottle back and forth between plays. Hope is losing as usual but it beats playing mindless card games again. She zones out after a while, thinks about how he lapped her up on the water bed. She shifts in her chair, bites her thumbnail. 

She blinks up at him. He’s concentrating on the board, tapping his fingers idly against the table. Even though he’d been angry over seemingly nothing and had been untactful about her first time...she’d really enjoyed the way that had felt. The pain had only added to the pleasure. And now...no more cramps, no more blood. 

“What has your heart racing?'' he asks, jerking her attention back to the present.

She smiles sheepishly. “Just thinking about how...um...good you are at certain things.”

He quirks a brow, eyes flicking down towards the game. Softly, he says, “oh?”

“Mmhm. Really good, in fact.”

He can’t hide his grin, though he tries. She’s feeling bold. Or buzzed on merlot. Hope crosses her legs, foot nudging his under the table, “and I want to make you feel that good too, you know.”

He leans his chin into his palm, fingers curving over his lips. His eyes meet hers; breathes in deeply and exhales slowly.

“So do it.” He drops his hand to lean back in the creaking chair.

Her mouth parts in surprise. Tilts her head and looks down, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “Okay…”

She glances up to read his reaction. He takes a swig from the bottle and hands it to her. She does the same, heart hammering away. She’s nervous. Like before a test she didn’t prepare for kind of nervous. Which only happened once, because she’s always prepared.

He’s watching her. Inspecting her. She feels a flush crawling up her chest. Her cheeks warm. She worries she’ll be no good at it. There was very,  _ very _ minimal practice with Landon. They were a lot of things...but sexually compatible -not so much. Though, she had loved him so she had tried.

She draws in her lips and presses them between her teeth in thought. Things are different with Klaus. She thinks of him as two different people when he’s looking at her like that. She’s not attracted to the father who looks at her with pride and concern. She just  _ loves _ him. Needs that unconditional love. But this man...Klaus...he’s not looking at her with pride or concern. He’s breathing thinly with a taut abdomen and a bulge in his pants. His lips are a deeper red and the wolf in her scents his interest. It beckons. For a moment, tiny and sharp, she wonders if that’s why her mother was drawn to him in spite of the hatred she felt. Was it just two wolves and a bit of alcohol?

Hope shakes her head of the thought. The last person she wants to think about right now is her mother. That’s the only part that still stings.

“That right there…” he murmurs. He leans forward, chair groaning and breath tickling her face. “Is it guilt for you too?”

She isn’t sure. It’s not exactly guilt. Or apprehension. She knows she loves him. Wants him. Needs him -all of him. She just knows. But...there is something there that twists right before they step over lines. Maybe it’s just the not knowing. Not knowing if even under these strange circumstances, what they feel and how they act on it wouldn’t be reason enough for it to be okay for the people they love and respect to accept. Even with everyone dead and gone, wouldn’t they face them again in death? She realizes this is the first time she’s really stopped to think about that.

She doesn’t want to answer. Doesn’t want to give him a reason to back out of what’s been building between them. She loves him and loves this new way of experiencing it.

So, she touches his cheek and leans forward to kiss him. He doesn’t move his lips but she feels him relax. Hope almost smiles. Maybe he didn’t want her to answer either...because he also doesn’t want to stop experiencing it all.

She lets go of thought and focuses on what her body says. Wills herself to keep her eyes off of his -she’s too nervous to analyze every expression that molds his face.

Sliding off the chair, her knees press into the hard floor and her fingers remain steady as she unbuttons his jeans. She never engaged in the conversations that budded between her school peers. But she’d always listened...book grasped in her hand and eyes trailing mindlessly over blurred words, ears sharpened around their whispers and giggles. She learned a lot about sex that way. Even the boys talked freely around her, thinking she was too focused on her studies to care about what a girl tastes like or how much she bleeds the first time. Teenagers rarely talked about the ways it all made them feel.

Right now, pulling him out of his unzipped jeans, she feels nervous but less so as her fingers seem to know where to go and his breath hitches in confirmation. She feels a dip of adrenaline in her belly as her tongue and lower lip make the first contact with the silken skin. So soft and warm. The tiny pulsing veins against her flattened tongue and his heavy fingers tangling through her hair...she thinks she moans.

She worries less and less because she forgets to think and just does it. The sounds he makes and his fingers drifting along her scalp -not grasping or forcing, just following her movements and caressing her like she’s everything. She’s not sure how slow or fast he prefers, she just enjoys the way he feels nudging the back of her throat and gliding against her lips and tongue, earning a groan between whispery breaths. He only speaks when he starts to cum...no clue what he says. He tastes like salt; the ocean and something spicy. She shivers and swallows hard. There’s more and it’s warm, sticking to her swollen tongue. 

She keeps moving slowly until his hand falls away, dangling heavily. He’d been quieter than she ever was; wonders how much he held back. Rocking back on her heels, she swallows again, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. She can still taste him, tongue curiously sweeping remnants around the inside of her mouth. It’s not what she expected. She thought she’d dislike the taste. She doesn’t love it, but she thinks that she can. Like wine for the first time. Bitter and strong, but the next time it hit sweeter.

His eyes drift open. He looks relaxed, like the night they smoked all the weed and forgot to talk for an hour. He reaches and runs the pad of his thumb along her lips. He lets out a long and shaky exhale.

She smiles to herself. “Are you okay?” 

“I shall never recover,” he hums.

“Hm, too bad.” 

Hope wants to ask if it was alright. She wants to know exactly what he likes and how he likes it. But she doesn’t. She remembers Lizzie telling Josie it’s half the fun trying to learn what your partner likes and doesn’t like. 

Looking at him, flushed and heavy eyes and a hint of a smile tugging his closed lips, he liked it just fine. 

  
  
[ k l a u s ]

Hope’s hair flies around her face. The sunglasses sit low on her nose, lips curved in a smile. Her fingers comb through the wind outside of the driver's side window. The leather steering wheel shakes beneath her one-handed grasp as they fly down a dirt road. If there was traffic to worry about, he’d tell her to slow down.

“Take a left at the fork,” he calls to her over the roar of road and engine. 

She flicks on her blinker out of habit, shoots him a toothy grin. 

They’d gotten up early that morning and packed up Lucille with rations, water, and clothing. They brought the extra canister of gas just in case things went awry. He didn’t give himself time to think about the night before. Didn’t ruminate on his guilt for realizing just how much he’d enjoyed it. Of course he enjoyed the sensation, that’s not what bore the guilt. It was her approach. Timid, yet sure. Curious and unpracticed. She’d swallowed every bit of him and he found it erotic the way she seemingly savored the taste. 

It’s a strange feeling that trickles in now and again -the knowing that he isn’t the one who was supposed to give her these first experiences. No father is. It’s where the guilt lives and he supposes it always will, no matter how it dims in time. 

He shifts in his seat. 

They arrive in town and the anxiety creeps in, as it always does when they explore new places. 

“Drive slow,” he reminds, eyes scanning their surroundings. There’s signs for cabin rentals and tourist hotspots like a waterfall and zip-lining. The main road is lined with a connected hodgepodge of storefronts. A record shop next to a lawyers’ office. A hair salon and laundromat across from a pizza joint and antique shop. 

Further down there are signs for a tourist stop, complete with maps for their cabin rental locations

“We should stop there,” he points. 

The building is stacked brick with a worn wooden sign that reads, ‘Pine Mountain Cabin Rentals’. He breaks the chain that loops through the handles of the double glass doors, gesturing for her to enter first. He follows closely, eyes sharpening in the dark and musty lobby. She places her backpack on the front desk and wanders towards the rows of bagged snacks still hanging untouched.

“You were right. I think this town is going to be a jackpot.” Her voice sounds loud in the stillness.

Behind the desk he finds a map of the properties. They’ll be mostly empty, but would provide a comfortable place to land for the night. He glances up to watch Hope stuff pretzels and trail mix into her bag. Her long tangled waves bounce against her lower back as she struggles to zip it closed. 

He worries about her lately. She doesn’t know how often he counts her calories and notes the lack of nutrients in the ones she does consume. Canned fruits and vegetables are becoming scarce. He hopes the local homes contain stockpiles, but there’s always the fear that they were cleared long ago when this all began. He eyes her body as a father far more than as...whoever he is when all he wants to do is push her against the wall and suckle her lower lip until she makes that little sighing moan. 

She’s toned and thin, nothing sharp and bony about her. But before all of this she had been curvy and supple, much like Rebekah. His heart twinges at the thought of his sister. If anyone could keep her alive, it would have been Marcellus. New York had been hit the hardest by the virus. The rapid death rate had brought the populous state to its knees. 

He thinks of the last message received before the EMP.  _ You’re going to be an Uncle _ . Pregnant women never survived the virus. Not a single one. His eyes burn with pent up tears. He hasn’t been able to cry since finding Hope in a state of shock at her school. There just hasn’t been time to let it in. His purpose is focused on her. That’s it. 

“Let’s check through there,” Hope nods towards the door behind him. An ‘employees only’ sign hangs crookedly above a Pine Mountain logo sticker. 

He goes first this time, a renewed sense of anxiety clouding his chest. There’s only a table and a few chairs, a coffee maker in the corner. A letter is splayed out on the table; he plucks it up to read. 

_ We went up to number 4 to wait this out. Don’t tell anyone else. There isn’t enough for everybody here.  _

_ I’m so sorry about Jeff, I know you two were close.  _

Hope takes the letter from his hand after he’s finished. Her eyes scan quickly, lips silently forming the words as she reads. She leans her head against his arm, tapping her chin in thought.

“We should check out cabin four,” she states. 

“ _ I _ shall check it out. Later. Once we’ve secured shelter for tonight.”

Hope steps away from him, shuffles towards the door. “Obviously that must be the best place to take shelter if they chose it. Who knows, maybe they survived. If not, I bet there will be supplies worth taking.” She’s using her stubborn tone. It only triggers his own.

“Even more reason for me to venture there alone. If there are survivors, they won’t be happy to find a vampire prowling these parts.”

“Only one of us is a vampire. You have me to feed on, they’d have nothing to fear.”

He grits his teeth. He doesn’t want to have to say it...doesn’t want to remind her that he’s not her mother. He’s not merciful when it comes to keeping his family safe. 

As if reading his mind, she adds, “you can compel them to forget us. You can compel the vampires too.”

He raises his voice, stalks close enough that she takes a small step back. “Do you know what starvation does to a vampire? Humanity is gone within. There’s only instinct. You’d be drained dry before you could blink.”

She doesn’t reply. He knows she understands. He also knows that even knowing and promising...she’s going to hesitate. It’s who she inherently is. And he loves that something so pure could be bore from his blood. But it will get her killed if he fails to protect her. 

She’s been surrounded by monsters her whole life, and learned to love them in spite of their darknesses. He remembers her tiny drool covered fingers wrapping around Elijah’s on the very day he slaughtered dozens. The sweet innocence of her presence settled them into the night like a warm glass of scotch. They’d decided everything was for her. Every death. Every sin. But they were monsters, still, even in the end.

“Dad…” She reaches for his hand. Laces her fingers in his. “Everything is going to be alright.”

He should be comforting her. Assuring  _ her _ . He snatches his hand away.

“Let us venture towards Main Street. There was a market.”

He ignores her sigh.

  
  
Hope fills a squeaking cart with jarred baby food and nutritional shakes marketed towards the elderly. It’s all that remains in the back of the store, still packaged on a pallet. She smiles and says, “I can eat like a baby and drink like a geezer.”

He finds crayons and colored pencils in the office supply aisle. Grinning, he picks up a coloring book of puppies...the exact one Elijah had bought her when she had toddled the halls of the abattoir. The brightly colored handles of a pair of scissors catches his eye. He tosses them in the cart as well. She approaches the cart with an armload of tampons. He raises a brow.

“What?”, she asks lightly, dumps them in with a clatter, “I’m not asking you for period relief every time, especially if you happen to be angry with me on that particular day.”

He folds his arms. Feels that spark that’s been growing deep. “Put them back,” he commands softly.

She freezes, stares up at him. Lips part and a slight rosy hue tints her sharp cheekbones. The corner of her mouth lifts in a shy grin. She obeys, looking once over her shoulder as she disappears around the aisle. He adjusts his jeans before she returns. Rolls his eyes at the pubescent way his body responds to the mere thought of being with her. It’s the wrongness of it all. The taboo nature of their budding desires for one another. The forbidden always tastes sweeter. 

He pushes the cart towards the back, ventures into the employees area. Hope joins, and together they look through the lockers and desks. Her lower lips juts out. “I was hoping for more weed, but these employees seem quite boring.”

He chuckles. “Indeed.”

They load up Lucille and spread a map of the cabins on the dash. He drives them through winding mountain roads towards cabin four, his fingers gripping the steering wheel the entire way. As the sun sets, the air becomes brisk. Hope rubs her arms, muttering about how her jacket is buried beneath the groceries. He can see their breath in the car, little plumes like exhaled smoke.

The road narrows and veers before they see the numbered sign. He shifts gears and eases them up the overgrown driveway. At the top, the cabin comes into view. Or what’s left of it.

“Well…” she sighs, “I guess we don’t have to worry about survivors after all.”

The cabin seems to have caught fire long ago. Only the stone fireplace remains, the rest a pile of blackened debris. Weeds poke between the rubble, bright green against the charred remnants. Klaus parks the car and gets out, motioning for her to remain. He’s checking for bones, the sick and dead were commonly burned.

After he pokes around, finding what might be bone fragments, she opens her door and asks, “find anything?”

He shakes his head and returns to the car, cranking the engine. They drive to the fifth. The sixth. The seventh. All burnt. His mind rolls over the possibilities. All the scenarios that would lead to the obviously purposeful fires. Hope’s quiet, her mind likely reeling from the same conclusions.

They crawl deeper into the woods, taking an off road with a different colored sign, but numbered three. Hope peers at the map and mutters, “these signs are mostly for the park rangers and employees. This one is…” she squints and reads aloud, “the first aid station.”

Lucille squeaks to a halt. It’s a small log building with a tin roof. A red cross hangs above the front door and a tattered American flag hangs limply on a rusted pole connected to the porch railing. They rarely looked for first aid supplies, leaving them behind for those that can’t heal on their own. But there might be something of use inside. Emergency rations. Water, perhaps.

“Maybe we could just stay here for the night. I’m getting pretty hungry,” she admits softly. He eyes her, notices the pink tinge to her nose and cheeks. She’s getting too cold. 

The inside of the cabin appears to have been cleared out of medical supplies. The layers of dust indicate there hasn’t been any visitors in a very long time. Hope shakes out a small blanket from a shelf and coughs as she stirs dust in the air. They’ll have to use the sleeping bags and fleece sheets to keep warm tonight.

It doesn’t take them long to set up the back room which once served as a small infirmary. They’re used to the process; spent years doing it before they had finally settled in their isolated cabin in the woods. Candles and matches, water, food, sleeping bags, and a flask of something to help them sleep. He doesn’t want to bring attention, just in case, so they skip out on making a fire or hunting for something fresh. 

He tugs off his boots as she chews on a sliver of jerky they brought. She’s sitting cross legged near the bigger candle, examining the map spread out atop their piled sleeping bags. Her sweater fits tightly and his eyes trail towards where her nipples pebble through the fuzzy fabric. Like the flick of a switch, he looks at her in a different way. He’s growing used to the constant shifts between father and man. He’s becoming used to the stabs of guilt and the comforting internal logic that convinces him it’s for her wellbeing and he’s doing her no harm in allowing these boundaryless indulgences. 

“I bet we can find gas for Lucille at the Ranger’s station. They usually keep four wheelers and stuff like that around so there’s got to be extra fuel,” she says between bites. 

He forgets to respond. He’s looking at her in that way again, and at times it feels like a sudden fall. His eyes roam all over, drinking in her profile that glows warm in the candle’s flicker. She really is exquisite. He would have pursued her in another life. If she had not been his, but a stranger with inquisitive eyes and the sweetest of smiles. Full hips and breasts he’d pretend not to care about, but would eagerly explore with an artists’ touch. Tracing, gentle, kneading. He’d have tried to charm her with his vast knowledge and cultured views. He’d have been pleasantly surprised and intrigued by her own. They’d have fucked loudly against walls and they’d paint naked, post coital sweat still drying on their skin. He’d want to know everything about her. Her pain, her joy. Likes and dislikes. What made her angry. Her darkness. He’d try to kiss it all away, a love story full of passion and youthful exploration. He can see it all, just like that, as if it had already been written and read. 

She folds up the map and tosses it aside, extends her legs and leans back on her palms. He unlaces her boots, tugging her feet free. She wiggles her toes in his hands. 

“Can I ask you something?” She sounds uncertain. Voice small and soft.

He drops her feet and lays beside her, folding his arms behind his head to peer upwards. He watches the pulse in her neck as she speaks, until her gaze flicks down and connects with his own. She seems nervous. She licks her lips.

“What is it, sweetheart?”

“It’s about...us.”

He holds in a breath. His heart picks up its pace. Exhaling, he replies, “we can talk about anything.”

She slides down to lay on her back, leans her cheek against his bent elbow so that he can no longer see to read her expression. So he closes his eyes, hoping he knows how to answer what it is that ails her.

“Promise me you’ll not pretend if...if your feelings change. I want you to know I understand that either way, your love for me as a father is unconditional.”

He cannot imagine wanting her any less or any differently. Not even under the guiltiest of nights. He rolls to his side and grasps her chin, pulls her face to his -kisses her gently. Deeply. Her fingers curl into his hair. He’s become addicted to the soft, giving flesh of her mouth. It’s a comfort, not just an indulgence. She pulls away, though he holds her chin tightly. 

The orange glow dances in the reflection of her eyes. “ _ Promise _ me.”

He runs the tip of his nose along her own, releases her chin. “You must promise the same.”

She blinks her glassy eyes and tentatively traces the lines of his face with the tip of her finger. “I’ve always loved you with all of me.” Then she smiles, shakes her head. “That was like a lame movie line, sorry.”

He rests his hand at her chest, thumb resting in the hollow between collar bones. “Did you steal it from Titanic?” 

She laughs, her body shakes with it. She grasps his cheeks with both hands and presses a kiss into his grin.

It’s then that he knows.  _ Knows _ . He’s never truly known love before her. 

  
  


[ h o p e ]

_ Click _ .

Hope’s eyes snap open. She stares up the long and gleaming barrel of a shotgun. Blinks and opens her mouth. Clamps it shut as the cold metal is pressed to her forehead. Her eyes flick side to side, searching for Klaus. Her heart flies wildly as her sleep-sluggish brain struggles to catch up. 

They’d fallen asleep after looking over the map once more and blowing out the candles. The letter had said  _ number 4 _ . They’d figured out it hadn’t meant cabin four, but station four. And station four was animal control. They’d reasoned it likely had guns and tranquilizers and access to the long distance radios. During the beginning of the pandemic, as people fell ill too quickly to keep order and reason intact, it was chaos. Weapons, food, and seclusion were your best bet against the crumbling remains of society. 

The gun still pressed, the man pulls something from his pocket. Hope blinks rapidly, trying to focus on what it is. A syringe.

“Lights out,” he murmurs, jabbing it into her neck. 

She fights it, but the pull of darkness is too heavy.

A low whistle beckons her from a groggy sleep. Hope groans and opens her eyes in several lazy blinks. Her teeth chatter loudly but she barely feels the cold. Frantically she takes in her surroundings.

A cage. She’s in a cage. Too small for her to stand, big enough to sit up. There are other cages, and she’s not alone. 

“Dad,” she calls, noticing his slumped figure locked away in a cage adjacent to hers. Next to her is a girl, a teenager, and she’s bound in chains. Just staring.

“I’d be quiet if I were you,” the girl rasps.

Hope crawls closer, grasps the thick metal and whispers desperately, “what is this?”

“He’ll test you. If you pass, you lose. If you fail, you lose.” She smiles and rattles her chains, a faraway look in her crazed eyes. The whistling echoes from somewhere beyond the small room and the girl shrinks and turns her head away, eyes squeezed shut.

The man strolls in, loading something into a small handgun. Hope squints. It’s a dart gun. They must be in station four...animal control. 

He turns and shoots Klaus’s stirring body. A sizzle and wisps of steam rise from the impact. Klaus hisses and growls in pain. Hope gasps, banging her head on the top of the cage. She winces and scurries closer. She can’t tell if she’s shaking from panic or the extreme cold of the cement floor and drafty room.

“Caught ourselves another vampire, Sheri,” he drawls in a thick southern accent. 

The girl croaks half-heartedly, “yay.”

He turns to face Hope, loading another dart, chewing on the end of an unlit cigarette. “What about you? You his friend or food…” 

She yelps at the dart’s impact. Pulls it out and glares at him. He cocks his head. Reaching into his back pocket, he retrieves another dart. Loads it and this time it  _ burns _ . Hope shrieks and tears it out, throwing it blindly.  _ Wolfsbane _ . Sheri cackles and rattles her chains. 

“Hurt her again and I will -” 

The man turns and shoots Klaus with the shotgun. Blood spatters everywhere and Hope swallows a scream. He’ll heal. He’ll come back. But it would take a while. She had to get them out of this. She had to be smart. She can’t hesitate.

“What do you want?” 

He takes off his hat, running a hand through thick auburn hair. He’s probably in his early thirties and extremely thin. His nose looks like it’s been broken in the past and a smatter of tattoos peek from under his long sleeved shirt.

“Just trying to survive. Can’t really do that with blood suckers and beasts roaming. Thought I was lucky, being immune and all. But I wouldn’t call being on the bottom of this new food chain luck.” He steps over the blood seeping from Klaus’s cage. Kneels down and says, “But as luck would have it, I was able to find you before this month’s full moon.  _ And _ I have another vampire to offer in the next exchange.”

She needs to keep him talking. She needs him to believe that she’s harmless except on full moons. 

“Let us go, we can help you. He only feeds from me and we know where to find more supplies.”

“That’s what they all say. I don’t care what messed up little vampire fantasy you’re acting on, little girl, but you ain't going to convince me letting either of you roam free is at all beneficial to me or any of the humans left.”

“Are there others? Do you have friends here?”

“Haven’t seen another human in over a year. But the vampires. They come through every now and then. They’re looking for others like them. Won’t say much more than that. We’ve made an arrangement. But none of that concerns you. They’ll decide if they want you or not. They didn’t want Sheri, did they baby wolf girl?”

Sheri hums and rolls over, curls up in a ball facing the wall. The chains look heavy and Hope wonders how many times she’s had to transition into her wolf within them. The pain must be unbearable. 

“Why are you keeping her alive?”

“So they have something to sip on while they’re here. Better her than me. Can’t stand the way it feels.”

Hope thinks of the vampires they came across in Steve and Bunny’s neighborhood. Does he know they killed them? Or are there more…

“When’s the last time they came by?”

“Why? You workin’ for them too?”

“We didn’t know anyone else was alive anymore.”

“They missed the last exchange. Figure somethin’ held them up. Could be any day now. So it’s a good thing I have captors to offer this time.”

She knows she has to avoid being chained up like Sheri. She has to think fast. Her mind races through reasons to give him. She can’t tell him she’s able to control her wolf. He can’t know that the sun doesn’t harm Klaus or that he’s a hybrid. They needed to appear far weaker than they were.

Then, it hits her. There’s only one other reason that a wolf can’t transition under a full moon. She eyes Sheri’s chains and grimaces. Crawls over and grasps the cage door. 

“I won’t be transitioning under the full moon. I can’t.”

He rubs at his jaw. “Right...because you’re a  _ special _ wolf…” He rolls his eyes and strolls to a locker, pulls out a bundle of chains. They scrape loudly across the floor as he approaches her cage, his other hand grasping the tranquilizer. 

“Please don’t...it’ll hurt the baby.” He pauses. Peers at her, eyes trailing to her stomach that she grasps protectively. She quickly formulates a story, trying to keep the eagerness from her tone. “I was attacked and...raped,” she nods towards Klaus, “he heard the struggle and saved me. He’s not just some blood sucker. He killed the guy and has been helping me survive ever since, even knowing I am a wolf. Even knowing I might hurt him. The last full moon I didn’t turn and that’s how we found out. So I know what you mean about luck. Please just let us go. I don’t want those blood suckers getting their hands on my baby. Can you imagine? Raising a child as some blood bag? Some piece of food? I won’t let them take us. I  _ won’t _ .” She even summons tears. 

He’s silent for a long time. Just stares at her, idly rubbing his chin. Finally he exhales loudly and says, “Fine. If you’re tellin’ the truth, I’ll know come the full moon. I’ll let ya go. But if they come before then, I ain’t helping. I can’t, you see. This is beyond my choices. My thoughts. They ain’t always mine.”

Hope nods. She gets it, even if he doesn’t know how to say it. He’s been compelled. Which means whoever did the compelling must still be alive.

  
  
It’s the longest few weeks of her life. She cries through the night, only her thoughts and Sheri’s strange humming to keep her company. She watches Klaus die over and over, never exchanging more than a brief glance before he’s shot again or tranquilized. The only time she’s allowed out of her cage is to use the bathroom. She doesn’t risk wolfing out or even making a run for it...not with a shotgun aimed at her back. She has to remain patient. He lets her eat just enough. For the baby. If she were really pregnant, she doubts the pregnancy would be successful in these conditions. 

The full moon comes, she can feel it, and Klaus is finally left alone enough to heal and wake. Hope doesn’t notice him at first, she’s too busy pressing herself to the furthest corner of her cage as Sheri transitions in her chains. The sounds are unbearable. Guttural screams of agony mix with piercing clanks of chains against metal. The man stands with his tranquilizer grasped in his hand, watching with a grimace. Hope puts her hands over her ears and shuts her eyes. Maybe she feels him watching her, but something forces her to open them and glance at Klaus.

His skin is so pale she thinks she can see the shadows of his bones beneath it. She gives him what she hopes is a reassuring smile. He puts his palm to the door of his cage.

The man shoots the tranquilizer into Sheri’s wolf as soon as she growls, teeth dripping with thick saliva. A pathetic and high pitched whimper escapes before she stumbles and collapses to her side. 

Slowly, he turns towards Hope. “Well...a promise is a promise. I’ll let you go, but he’s got to stay.”

She swallows thickly. She’d been preparing for this moment in the long and endless hours of the night. Knew it wouldn’t be easy. Knew she had to.

The cage door creaks open and he takes several steps back, gun still gripped in his hands. She steps out and straightens, breathes in deeply. She glances towards Klaus and says, “thank you for all of your help. I’m sorry I can’t help you too.”

He doesn’t reply, just watches. Knows she’s in control. Knows to be ready.

As soon as she backs out of the door she tears out of her clothes and forces her transition. It’s not quiet. He knows it’s coming, the shotgun barely clips her shoulder. It’s not enough to slow her lunge. She rips through his neck, blood gushing syrupy and warm between her teeth. 

Her first real kill. No hesitation.

  
  


[ k l a u s ]

A cold breeze stirs the ragged flag. Hope shivers under the sleeping bag that’s draped over her bare shoulders. He stumbles up the splintered steps, her new set of cloths grasped in his blood coated hand. She stares off behind him, unfocused and pale; hasn’t said a word since transitioning back. 

He had to let her heal on her own, and it had been a slow and painful thing to watch. His own blood remains thick with Sheri’s, tainted with tranquilizer that causes his vision to blur and movements to slow. Feeding it to her would make getting home a much longer venture. He fears every rustle in the forest, every movement in the corner of his eye. It’s worse than when his father hunted them down long ago. The prospect of losing Hope, a far greater significance than losing his own life or his sibling’s. 

“Come, sweetheart. Let us get you dressed. When we return home we’ll have a long soak in the bath. I’ll pour us the best bourbon.”

She shakes her head, says softly, “we’re saving the best bourbon for a special day.”

“Is it not?” He gently removes the sleeping bag and inspects her healed wound. One fragment remains embedded. Another half hour, and it will push its way out. He doesn’t want her to have to wait for the pain to leave. Like removing a band aid, he swiftly plucks it free, earning him a yelp and a hiss. He tosses the fragment into the tall weeds.

“There,” he states, tugging the shirt over her head. “Arms through the holes.” It’s as if she’s a child again, mindfully following his instruction. Once she’s dressed in leggings and a sweater, he offers his hand to help her stand. It’s cold and limp.

Before they drive towards home, he takes them to another station in search of gas. She had been right, there was plenty left for the four wheelers. He has to leave behind some of their other supplies to make room for every bit of it. They can’t stay here much longer. They’ll go north as soon as winter thaws. They’ll go face reality and find once and for all who remains and who is more than still. 

Lightning splits the sky and rain pours just before they reach home. They leave everything in the car, he’ll return for it when the rain subsides. For now, they’ll need to boil water for a bath and he needs to soothe whatever it is she’s feeling...whatever it is that has removed her from the present. He wonders how long she’d stand still and stare if not for his direction.

She lays on the couch, eyes reflecting the orange flames, until he softly commands her to follow him. The bathroom feels chilly, steam hovering over their bath like fog blanketing the lake. Candles dance from the corner, wax beading and coating the tiled floor beneath them. 

“Arms up,” he whispers. She obeys, her hair gets caught in the sweater. He peels her leggings down, squatting to remove them from her feet. She turns and climbs into the tub, lowers herself with a thin sigh.

He sheds his clothing and joins her. They take turns with the washcloth, rinsing away the blood of their kills and all the days before. He lathers her hair, fingers massaging into her scalp. She sighs blissfully, leans her back against his chest when it’s all rinsed. He wraps his arms around her, rests his chin on her shoulder. 

Against her ear, he whispers, “I'm proud of you, littlest wolf.” Her fingers trail over his arm. “You did what you had to, and you did it well.”

“I don’t want to think about it anymore. Just hold me.”

They stay in, just like that, until the water fades cold. They warm under a shared quilt in front of the fire, bare skin burrowed into the furry rug. It reminds him of long ago, doing the same with his siblings while their village quieted for the long winter night. She’d have enjoyed life then. She’d have taken to it well, just as she’s adjusted to life as it is now.

“Do we have to leave?”

“Yes, love. I’m sorry.”

“Can we say goodbye to Steve and Bunny’s? The lake house?”

He kisses her temple, breathes in her skin. “Yes.”

She relaxes against him. Yawns and touches his fingers with hers. “I’m tired. Lets sleep.”

They tangle against one another in front of the fire, letting body heat build beneath the quilt. They fall asleep just as the morning sun rises. 

[ h o p e ]

It isn’t planned. She doesn’t think about it at all. Not until they’re standing on the dock, their exhales curling like smoke around their cheeks. The lake is still and dark, almost like it was made of ice. His hand grasps hers and the sense of loss creeps in. It reminds her of watching her mother’s body burn and float away. It’s like knowing you have to let go of something important that you weren’t finished with yet.

“I imagined the summers we would spend here. The fireflies and playing guitar on the edge of the dock.” Silly things. Dreamy things. 

He drops her hand, wraps an arm around her shoulders and brings her into his side. He smells like Lucille; engine and leather. It’s not her plan to kiss him or to make a memory she’ll never forget inside this goodbye. It’s sort of like watching a movie scene, she feels outside of herself, watching this sad girl turn and thread her fingers behind this stoic man’s neck. His lips lower to hers and she returns to herself. His mouth is cold and damp; It’s like melting ice, smooth and slick. He doesn’t seem to flinch anymore, like he’s slowly forgetting what they were before. She wonders if he has trouble remembering what it felt like to tuck her into her crib at night. She wonders if all parents eventually do.

He breaks away first, licks his lips and peers into her eyes. She wonders if this feeling will ever stop like it sometimes does for characters in books. One chapter there’s undeniable love, and by the next there’s enough conflict that it’s easier to give it all up. Swallowing against the lump growing in her throat, she glances away. This is what happened with Landon. This is what happens when loss and grief mix with the tiny hopeful flame she keeps lit. It’s a crumbly brick wall behind a door. 

His fingers swipe away her tears. “We will find a new home. It won’t be the same, but it will be ours.”

Nodding, she wonders why losing one thing makes her believe she’ll lose all things. Maybe because that’s usually how it happened in the past. So she pushes away the fear of losing the only constant thing she has left. Drinks in the sight of his tender eyes and flushed lips. Asks without asking if he can heal this part of her. Glances over her shoulder to make sure he follows her down the slick, mossy dock. 

Inside, the door creaking shut behind him, she stops at the foot of the stairs to kiss him again, this time finding the satin flesh of his parted lips much warmer. His tongue collides with hers. She loves when he does that, it’s like when his fingers glide against her insides. 

He backs her up the stairs, one by one; creaking, popping wood and wet smacks of short and parted kisses. There’s nothing but heat now. His fingers, removing clothing with purposeful precision, are warmer than his mouth. The road of skin from his neck to collarbone is thrumming with heat beneath her tongue. She loves to taste him there, where the wind and sun dries the sweat above the collar of his shirt. 

They land on the bed. It sloshes beneath them and she closes her eyes, pretends they’re on a boat, lost at sea.

He touches her in places he hasn’t before; draws a nipple into his mouth and she feels it in her limbs. It’s like a current. Little tugs of electricity. 

He hovers, knees planted on either side of her hip bones. She eyes his erection, pulsing a subtle rhythm in the air. She thinks of how full both his fingers felt inside of her that night against the glass. This might hurt and it’s strange but she’s eager for the pain. She wants him, all of him, tip against her spine. Deep. Doesn’t care about the tearing or the blood or the burning stretching skin the girls at school whispered about. She welcomes it. Or she thinks she should try to, because it would happen every time, afterall. Her tribrid healing a blessing and a curse.

“You’re sure?”

She nods, shakily buries her palms beneath the sheets, fingers digging into the rippling mattress. He looks different somehow. There’s a look on his face she hasn’t seen before; can’t make out if it’s a good or bad expression. Her eyes drift to the mirror, it’s like she’s outside looking in again. His back muscles roll and ripple as he lowers his pelvis. He grasps himself, nudging the tip against her swollen flesh. God, she’s drenched. It’s smeared all over her inner thighs. She holds her breath, tries to relax as he nudges further. It’s just pressure and pain and she wonders for a moment how this could possibly be better than his tongue between her legs...how anyone would choose this over the searing pleasure of a hungry mouth or exploring fingers. 

Then, the pain subsides. The burning, stretching, fullness starts to soften...melts. He’s still as her body adjusts him. Her belly flutters at the realization that this is it...he’s inside of her and this is the closest that they can physically be together. This is what all the fuss is about.

She remembers to breathe; it’s erratic and shuddering. She swallows like her throat is dry, fingers easing their grip. He raises his chin to look at her. His cheeks are flushed and pupils large. 

His lips part like he wants to say something. She doesn’t let him; lifts her head enough to capture his mouth and bring him back down against her. His weight makes her breathing thin, his exhale hisses warmly against her cheek. He begins to move and every movement begins to build something inside. It’s not at all like his fingers, the sensation takes her by surprise. His lips move to her neck, teeth tugging at her earlobe as if urging her to make a sound. It works. The first gasping moan sounds positively girlish...pornographic even. It excites her to hear it...to know her body can feel this way because of his. 

There’s a rhythm she decides to break. Arches and adjusts, taking him deeper, matching his thrusts but speeding them up. She’s not shy about it. She just wants more. More of him and more of this. Now he’s the noisy one and  _ god _ she feels it in her toes. Her nails scrape down his back and she stares at her flushed reflection and at the way his muscles go taut and release with each thrust. The building feeling, spine melting throbs and waves of pleasure, only gets higher and higher. It’ll be soon. Maybe he feels it because he slows, smoothes the hair from her damp forehead.

“Sorry love, I was going to draw this out but…” he shudders against the tightening of her insides. She doesn’t mean to, it’s uncontrollable.

She arches again, murmurs breathily, “s’okay. I’m close.”

His palms slide under her buttocks, lifting her slightly. She’s not sure why, but then he starts to glide inside and roll his hips in the most delicious way. It’s like when he brings her to the brink with his mouth, but far deeper; raw and intense. She comes and it takes her by surprise. It’s long and it’s full-bodied. He’s right behind her and their cries match in their desperation. Something purely euphoric rushes from her belly to her chest with every cry, every moan. She loves him, fucking loves him. Her insides dip and squeeze and contract in ways she can  _ really  _ feel that she couldn’t without him filling the space within.

Her fingers tear against his scalp and she holds him so close she feels like the bed swallows around them, like their boat is sinking. He’s still emptying in shudders even as she’s gone soft around him. Like liquid. Eventually, he rolls off of her, arms tossed over his head, breathing deeply through his mouth. He’s coated with her, tinged pink. She can smell his release and hers, the slightest hint of copper in the air. 

She understands now why people say sex complicates your feelings. You feel something even if it’s fleeting. A bond of some sort. Something she hadn’t felt before; it’s warm and comforting and she wants more. She can’t imagine feeling this way with someone she wasn’t sure felt it back. With him. She’s sure.

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay! Vacation and life stuff built up all at once. Hope everyone is well, and thank you for all of the comments and kudos. I'll continue updating as I have the time!


	13. Chapter 13

[ k l a u s ]

Pillow talk. It’s when new lovers begin to share their damage. Let the other person in, see the parts that hurt and bleed. Everything is raw and tender and wide open. An underlying desire that  _ this _ is the lover with the right touch. This person is who will lead you out of the labyrinth. This is  _ the _ love of your life. But he already knows her damage because he’s caused a lot of it. Being born into the Mikaelson family comes with heavy consequences. He lived it alongside her and shares it. He’s loved her before she even knew the meaning of the word.

He tries to soothe as lover and not guilty father. Kisses down her neck and swirls a finger around a peaked nipple. Her eyes are trained on the mirror above them. But his are on her as she spills her soul.

“I’m glad Landon and I didn’t do this.” She swallows, draws a knee up. He slides a palm to the underside of her thigh, thumb rubbing lightly along her cooling skin. Her eyes dart to the side, briefly capturing his. “Losing him would have been worse.”

He wonders if she will always carry the pain of losing her first love as heavily as she does now. Time heals, of course. But the state he found her in when everything was going to hell around them… he would never forget her pale and shocked face. He would never forget her screams before he soothed and forced her to leave the school that stood burning the dead all around them. Caroline had already left. He doesn’t blame her for that. Nobody would have been able to tear Hope away from her fallen friends, losing her mother had been the deepest of wounds. But Klaus, he had known what to do.

She shivers suddenly. Klaus tugs the covers over them, pulls her close. The guilt hasn’t settled yet. The weight of this behind some sort of detached barrier. He breathes in her skin, nudging his nose against her neck. He wants to drink from her, knows the blood will be warmer and thicker. He trails a finger along her shoulder, enjoys the way she shivers again. He finds her birthmark. Traces the moon and thinks about Hayley. Remembers the only night they ever joined as one.

He stiffens. Freezes. Sits up quickly, heart pounding, a roaring in his ears. He thinks he curses.

“What?” She’s alarmed; sits up and touches his hand.

“I should not have...we should have…” he rubs his face roughly with both hands. There’s only been one instance that he’s ever needed protection during sex and at the time he hadn’t realized. They had made Hope that night because of a complete lack of knowledge surrounding how wolves and hybrids can procreate.

His mind flies. If she had her magic he knew a trick the witches often spoke of. His eyes flick towards her diamond earrings. His fingers tremble as he rubs at his jaw, finding his palm damp with sweat.

“It’s okay…” she whispers, scooting closer. He shakes his head. She must think he’s upset that they crossed the final line...that he’s having regrets.

“We weren’t careful.” His eyes move to her abdomen. It’s taut with held breath.

She wets her lips and ducks her head. “Before you freak out, I should probably tell you something.” Her fingers reach out to play with his necklace. He sees the nervousness in the set of her lips.

He stiffens. “What is it?”

“I found Bunny’s birth control pills a while back. I started taking them. I know that seems really...presumptuous. I just didn’t want...you know. Like what happened to you and mom.”

His stomach churns. Anger flares. Not at her, at himself. She had thought to be careful...and he...so careless the thought had not even infiltrated the inner turmoil surrounding the desire to make love to her at all. He curses out loud, pinches the bridge of his nose and sucks in a sharp breath. 

She scoots closer. “Don’t be angry with me. Sometimes secrets aren’t to hide things, but to help.”

He blinks at that. Thinks of his own secrets forged in the name of helpfulness. Thinks of the night at the school when he took something away from her. But he could not leave her stronger than he. And in her despair...her fear… 

The moonlight catches her diamond earring. He reaches to touch it, swirls his finger around the smoothed gem. She shivers. The time would come soon, where she’d need to know the truth. He sighs, “I’m not angry. Just disappointed in my recklessness.” 

Hope brushes the hair from his brow. The flare of anger subsides under her cool touch. She moves her lips to his but doesn’t kiss them; breathes him in and skates the petal soft skin along his mouth. He grasps her jaw and leans his forehead to hers; closes his eyes and exhales in relief. The thought of bringing a child into this world makes his stomach churn. 

He needs to know. “What we allowed between us...you’re alright?”

She nods, eyes flicking back and forth between his own. Then with a slow smile, she asks, “when can we do it again?”

He clucks his tongue and murmurs, “now, now. We mustn’t overdo it.” His fingers thread into her hair, cradling her head. “We should sleep.”

“Are we going to Bunny and Steve’s tomorrow? Could we stay two nights? Then two more at the cabin?”

He chuckles softly. “Yes, love. A proper goodbye.” 

Silence falls between them. He settles them back down, pulling the covers to their waists. Sadness twists inside...he will miss their life here. They had spent years without settling anywhere and he doesn’t look forward to returning to their vagabond ways.

She stirs and glances at him. “Are you going to fuck me on Bunny’s velvet chair?”

He chokes on his gasp, coughs and peers with wide eyes. She smiles and lets out a stream of laughs, covering her mouth with her cupped hand.

“You filthy, filthy girl…” He shakes his head. Could he possibly love her any more than this? He reminds softly, “we are more than that. I should clean your mouth out with soap.”

The sweetest smile curves her lips. 

[ h o p e ]

The fur coat is musty, but silky sleek. She fingers the long strand of pearls that clack against her bare navel as she walks down the stairs. Their clothes hang on the clothesline outside, drying under a bright sun. Today they’d spent time rummaging through Bunny and Steve’s things and washing clothes. Her arms are still sore from all of the scrubbing. 

Klaus opens the front door just as she reaches the bottom step. He freezes and his eyes follow the length of the pearls.

“Bunny...darling…” he croons with a grin.

“Oh, hello Steve. I was just doing some housework.”

“In nothing but a fur coat and these?” He reaches out to hook a finger in the pearls.

She giggles, and then clamps her mouth shut. Giggling isn’t really something she does very often. It sounds girlish and young. Like she’s flirting. He seems to like it because his smile sweetens and he steps closer. 

Hope shrugs, explaining, “I was going to check on our clothes.” She looks down at the coat, smooths her hand along the dark fur. “I’m repulsed by the killing of animals for fashion. But it looked really soft and warm so I figure it’ll be nice when we are traveling in the cold weather.”

His eyes are soft and she feels warm under his gaze. Finally, he blinks and tilts his head. “Well, it suits you.”

Things had felt a little awkward between them today. As if having sex had done what they feared it would do and changed things. But it didn’t really feel like a bad change. More like this shyness had settled between them. She feels like a girl with a crush and all she can do is replay what happened and fantasize about what will happen next. It’s helping her focus on something other than the sadness of leaving their home...on something other than what it felt like to be trapped in a cage utterly alone.

“Thanks…” she remembers to reply. It comes out too soft. She bites her lip and turns away as she feels her cheeks warm. It’s like being a young girl all over again, feeling attraction for the first time. 

He keeps busy well into the evening. Hope helps sort through the folded clothes they intend to keep and watches from the couch as he stirs their dinner on the fire. She’s still in the pearls, but shed the coat and traded it for an oversized sweatshirt that said  _ Harvard _ . She wonders if Steve actually went to the ivy league school.

Sitting up, she accepts the steaming bowl from Klaus’s hand; eats in silence, watching the fire die down as he does dishes in the kitchen behind her. Licking her spoon clean, she sets down the bowl and stretches with a loud yawn. A shadow casts from behind and she turns to see why he’s hovering.

“Why are your hands behind your back…” She narrows her eyes. “What are you holding?”

His face is a mask of indifference. “Oh, just these.” He presents a pair of scissors, giving them a few squeaky cuts in the air for effect. He approaches closer, “I’ve always wondered if my expansive natural talents extend to hair styling.”

She blanches. “Well...I guess there’s only one way to find out.” Sighing, she stands and follows him to the kitchen where he’s already pulled a chair out for her. 

“How short?”

“Surprise me,” she shrugs.

They talk as hair falls all around her. Long strands. She reaches up to touch but he swats her hand away. 

“Not yet,” he gently scolds.

Hope sighs. Decides to catch him while he’s in a seemingly good mood. “So, you do realize you’re wanting to leave the comfort of our cabin to travel in an old car with minimal fuel as winter creeps upon us?”

The scissors snip. He shifts on his feet. 

She adds quietly, “if only I still had my magic.”

“It’s not wise to sit still in the middle of some vampire exchange and hunting ground.”

“I wonder what that even means. He kept talking about the exchange like it was his compelled job to capture vampires for other vampires.”

“That’s precisely why we need to stay moving now. Whoever is left will return and find quite a mess. It won’t be hard to track us to the cabin. Or here.”

Hope knows. She understands. But she really had been looking forward to settling in the candlelit cabin with books, blankets, and his touch while winter raged outside. She’d done this ‘never stop moving’ thing for years with him already. It’s hard. It’s uneasy and uncertain. Always on alert, always planning their next move. At times she went hungry. 

The only reason she can think of for vampires capturing other vampires is for power. Power over the remaining food sources and over each other. It’s smart. And it is entirely possible to survive off of draining other vampires as well. Send them out to feed on animals and humans, only to feed off of them in return. He’s right. It’s dangerous for the both of them if caught unguarded. They needed to find out exactly what happened to Marcel, Rebekah, and Caroline. Freya and Keelin died early. Caroline had been the one to break it to her. Promised her that Klaus was on his way as soon as he was able to travel from Italy. 

The scissors stop and she closes her eyes against the tears. His fingers comb through her hair and she can tell it’s much shorter. Past her shoulders but not her shoulder blades. He moves to squat in front of her, starts trimming. He doesn’t say anything about the tears leaking from her shut eyes. 

After a moment, he sets the scissors aside and rests his palms on her knees. She opens her eyes. He’s all blurry.

“I swear to you. We will find a home and never leave it. But now we know we aren’t alone. We need safety and then I need to take what’s mine.” 

He’s talking in that voice that used to scare her when she was younger. It’s the alpha. The king. Whoever is in charge of the remaining vampires will be knocked off his throne. He isn’t running from them. He’s going to hide her away and leave her again. Do it all himself. She’s shaking.

His palms skate up the tops of her thighs. He rests his cheek against her chest. She wraps her arms around him, scratches her nails over his scalp. If she had her magic she’d force him to stay. She’d leave instead. 

“Be brave littlest wolf. When it’s all over I shall give you the world.”

She doesn’t care about the world. She only wants him. She wants this.

[ k l a u s ]

They had taken turns washing themselves with fire-warmed water and she lay belly down on the couch, leg and arm dangling off the side. She’s in a thin nightgown that pales her skin and her lips are stained with merlot. He’s torn. Knows she’s upset. Bothered. Worried. Angry? He knows how to soothe her as both a father and a lover. Doesn’t know how to combine the two without dosing himself with the guilt he hates facing.

He decides she needs her father right now. He decides to ignore the way her nightgown curls and clings to the curve of her bottom and the way her lips look slightly damp, slightly parted. He sits in the recliner. Puts physical distance.

“I know you’re upset.”

She rolls to her back. His eyes drift to her breasts, spilling beneath the nightgown’s silken fabric. Her softened nipples show through and her pulse shows from her elongated neck. Everything about her beckons. He realizes she’s looking at him. 

He clenches his jaw, drops his gaze in guilt.

“Come here”. Her voice is like a caress. She reaches a hand out, tosses the other behind her head. The nightgown draws up, his eyes trace the seam of her panties. 

He lets out a long exhale. Stands and trudges over the rug, kneels and lets her pull him against her chest. It is she who is soothing him. It is he who needs it more, and she knows it. She’s maternal with him more than he cares to admit. And he loves her for it; for this innocent sweetness that encompasses when she must be the stronger one.

“I won’t be left waiting and wondering, dad.” Her gentle and cold fingers roam along his jaw. “I will help you fight for what’s ours”.

Klaus’s insides burn with something deep-pitted and delicious. His heir. His love. His heart.  _ What’s ours _ .

“Come,” she says again. Opens her arms and elongates further on the couch. Spreads her thighs to make room for him to settle atop her. 

Her cool hand wraps behind his neck, guides his mouth to her skin. He exhales warmly, letting out an uninhibited and muffled groan. It’s relief. It’s giving in to being nurtured. It’s the tender love he seldom found in his own mother when he had needed it most. His fangs extend and as he plucks through the delicate skin, they tighten and clench tangled limbs around one another. Her fingers rake through his hair as he suckles and swallows tiny sips. He wants this to last. 

He feels her heart beat against his own against their pressed chests. She warms and dampens against his thigh that nestles there, adjusts her leg against his growing erection. Her hand stills and breath hitches. His fangs nudge deeper in time with the press of his thigh. He swallows thickly, suppresses a shudder. She’s moving against him, sodden flesh soaking through the panties that separates her from the skin of his thigh. Every sip ignites. Every slick rub brings him closer.

She’s unable to make it last for herself, her eager flesh undulating against his pressed leg. She arches her neck and lets out a whimpering cry. His fangs slip out. He tries to catch the blood but he’s fighting his own release. He loses. Blood gushes warmly down his chin. He covers her thigh with pools of him that seeps through the fabric . Her belly flutters; if he were inside her he’d feel the clenching contractions that would coax the last drops of him. Instead, he presses and rolls his hips, messily kissing her cheeks and chin crimson. 

They catch their breath, she adjusts under his weight. Lifting up, he smooths the coiled hair from her brow. “I’ve made such a mess of you.”

“That was...” she shakes her head, lets out a small and breathy chuckle. 

He stands; feels unsteady and heavy. Cleans them both up with a dish towel as she lay shivering, the color returning to her cheeks. He carries her to the bedroom, lays her nude in the middle of the mattress and covers them both with a thick quilt. He raises his arm so that she can lay against his chest, thigh draped over his hips. 

“Love you,” she sighs, eyes fluttering closed. There’s still the hint of blood smeared along her neck. He wets his thumb and swipes at her skin. 

“And I, you.”

[ h o p e ]

She knows she’s being moody. It’s their last day at Steve and Bunny’s. Then it’s a step closer to saying goodbye to the cabin. For good.

That night, she’s buzzed on scotch and feeling on edge. She thought it would be funny to play the confessions board game again. They sit at the table this time, completely buzzed on Steve’s scotch. Hope hugs her arms tighter, glances at the fire. 

“We should start where we left off…” Klaus says, licking the scotch from his lips. She props her feet onto his lap underneath the table. He drops a hand atop them, squeezes and tickles. Says, “describe your first time.”

Hope glances away. “Well…” she sucks in a breath, exhales slowly. “He was an older man. Much older.”

Klaus leans forward, touches the strand of Bunny’s pearls that hang around her neck. She wants to make sure she doesn’t forget to bring them. “Hm, how much older?”

“He could be my father,” she replies with a shrug. He grins. She leans on her palm, peers at him, “I was nervous. He’s been with a lot of women. I’ve never been with anyone.” Hope pauses and watches his expression change. Pensive. “He was gentle, it only hurt a little. I don’t think I bled very much.” 

The fire pops and she glances towards it. Continues softly, “then it started to feel as it should. It only made me love him more.”

He swallows. Drops his chin. “Do you...worry about the women who came before you?” She shrugs, picks up another card to read. His fingers wrap around her wrist, stilling her. He asks again, throat raw and scratchy from the scotch, “do you?”

“I don’t think we should talk about this. Especially since one of them was my mother.” Hope takes another sip of scotch, blinking against the burn in her eyes. She clears her throat and sets the glass back down. “Why couldn’t you love her as someone other than family, dad?”

He opens his mouth to answer. Then clamps it shut. She can read the apprehension in his eyes, sees the struggle for words. “I was foolish...I...”

She interrupts his attempts. “If you couldn’t love her like that, what makes me any different?” Guilt taps in her gut. She’s being unreasonable and knows it’s just the pent up anger that they have to leave. And her insecurities seem to come out to play when she’s feeling her worst. She knows he loves her...knows he feels this too. Why does she try and hurt others when she’s hurting?

He looks down, brows furrowed and fingers gripping her feet too hard.

She yanks her wrist from his grasp and reads from the card; needs to put these insecure thoughts away. “Is there anything you won’t do in bed?”

“Hope…” 

“Do you want me to answer first?”

He sighs. “Very well, let us avoid with blood and sex yet again.”

She shoots him a look, hates when people use her own words against her. Says, “there is nothing I wouldn’t try.”

He stares. She startles at the sweep of his arm. The game flies off the table, cards scatter everywhere. Her lips part in question. She feels her heart thud heavily and palms dampen. It’s hard to tell if he’s angry or ready to ravish her. His eyes darken and jaw clenches.

“I don’t want to play.”

She swallows thickly. Crosses her arms and replies evenly, “then just say so.”

“I don’t have all the answers. Sometimes love is fleeting. Sometimes it changes. But with you, it has only ever grown.”

Her heart thuds...pangs in remorse. She ducks her head. “Sorry. I don’t know what’s wrong with me today. I’m letting insecurities get the best of me I guess.” 

When he says nothing, she adds, “you’ve loved and lusted more than I care to imagine. It’s hard to picture what this must be like from your point of view. I’m...I’m just…”

“You’re perfect.” He stares at her in this...way. It’s intense and it’s hungry.

Hope feels a familiar burn between her clenched thighs. She thinks he’s going to lunge at her. Pounce and press her to the floor. Take her with a furiosity. But he doesn’t. He stands, walks towards the hallway, beckons with a jerk of his chin.

Hope follows, hovers in Bunny’s bathroom. He grabs the velvet chair and pushes it closer and sits heavily, peers at her with a stoic expression.

“Undress. Leave on the pearls.”

It’s like she’s on fire. Where has this side of him been? Quickly, she pulls her sweater off, peels down her leggings and steps out of them. He’s eying her but in a calm and tedious way. Like every inch of her is passing a total inspection. Her fingers shake against the clasp of her bra. It falls from her arms. The pearls feel cold against the space between her breasts. 

Her eyes widen as he unzips his jeans. Pulls himself free. She’s nervous and feels on display. She has no idea what to do next...or what it is he’s wanting. 

“Come here…” he murmurs. 

She shuffles over, the pearls clacking against her skin. He pulls her closer by the hips, reaches between her thighs to sweep his fingers along her folds. He pulls away to examine; wets his fingers further with his mouth and tongue, swiping again between her legs. When he removes his hand she’s cold there; wet and throbbing. He guides her so that the tip of him presses. She has no idea how to do this. Feels herself flushing and breathing too deeply. 

It stretches and burns this way. She’s too tight and tense, she’s sure of it. But he urges her against him anyway, even as she gasps in pain. It’s fleeting, she thinks she feels the moment her skin gives and her insides seem to push against the length of him. He holds her close. Whispers he loves her.

She wants this. Wants to be this practiced insatiable woman for him. But it honestly hurts this way. She’s not sure she likes it at all. Wonders if she’s going to be enough for him. Frustrated with her body she lets out a short huff.

“Hey,” he whispers. Rubs his thumb along her collarbone. “We can try this another time.”

She nods, slips off of him. Her inner thighs are streaked with blood. Mumbles an apology that he quickly kisses away. 

“We’re both learning,” he reminds gently. 

[ k l a u s ]

Their cold breath gathers like fog as they reach the front porch of the cabin. Hope starts their routine immediately, as if stubbornly ignoring that they no longer have to check on the garden or prepare for a week’s worth of firewood and hunting. 

Then things shift. He thinks it’s because neither of them know how to face the loss or settle into the slow trudge of time before they must leave their home.

Within their last days here, they barely get through their chores. He finger fucks her with one hand, while stirring breakfast with the other. She’s giving him head in the greenhouse, the vegetables tumbling from the basket he drops. He’s inside of her atop the leaves, her hands covered in soap and the laundry water going cold. 

In bed they make love. Her kisses reach his spine; sharp electric pulses. He’s louder than her, she says she likes that. 

The morning they are to leave, he wakes her with a kiss. She hums against his mouth, returns it with a sleepy tenderness. He wants to tell her everything that ran through his mind. Doesn’t know how. But he wants her to know. Wants her to feel it. Needs to know she feels it too; that this is real.

Every time is the first time. He nudges inside the delicately intact skin, tearing like a plucked petal and tingeing the air with copper. She’s feverishly warm inside; tight dewy flesh. Her legs draw up, thighs squeeze his sides, slowing his entrance. He knows it hurts. 

“Look at me,” he whispers. 

Her hooded eyes blink unfocused. She’d been in a deep sleep just moments ago. He smiles at how quickly she dampens and nipples pebble and lips flush a deep rose. It’s like flicking on a light. So responsive. While her mind groggily emerges, her body makes room for him. Welcomes him.

He delves deep with the first thrust. Meets the barrier with her sharp cry. Rolls his hips and holds her there, let’s her grow used to the pressure and pain. Her eyes, alert now, remain trained on his. Her body tries to wriggle back, tries to convince her with pain signals to the brain that she needs to nudge him further out. But he wants her to know that there’s pleasure in pain. He wants to teach her all of the ways he loves her.

Klaus stills her with a firm grasp on her hip, fingers digging into her skin. Her eyes flick back and forth between his own, her heartbeat thrumming like butterfly wings. She breathes in shallow trembling gasps. He feels her insides flicker around him.

As her gaze slows and thighs relax, he begins to move again. Retreats slowly inside the length of her, pushes as deeply as her body allows. She’s quiet, suppressing the moans trapped in her filled lungs. Her exhale an unsteady and breathy release. 

He builds her like this. Slow and deep; stirring a cauldron filled to the brim. When her tightly wound breaths empty with waves of vibrating hums, he moves differently; deep and rhythmic, enough to lull a flurry of cries and groans from her open mouth. He loves that she never tries to sound like she’s performing. Her moans are natural and bare. They are exactly as she feels. 

He lowers to his elbows, his rolling thrusts hitting her just as she likes...but pushes deeper to induce sharp whimpers. He kisses her just as slow and deep, tangling their tongues and sharing gasping breath. 

“God,” she whispers just before letting go. It takes everything to keep from spilling inside of her. 

“Look at me,” he reminds, propping up and quickening his pace. 

She does. She tries her best. Her cries echo into the night. Her insides squeeze and dip and he can feel every pulse of her orgasm. It’s a strong one. Perhaps the strongest. 

She’s barely landed before he buries deep. The line between pleasure and pain now softened in her release. She claws at his back, neck arched. Her moans turn to cursing cries. She stares at him wide eyed and gasping as he builds to that moment. He’s louder than she. He empties relentlessly, sweat clinging between their joined bodies. Shudders and roars in the back of his throat. She’s staring into his eyes and he  _ loves _ her. She is his. Only his. 

His one true always and forever.


End file.
